The Dragon and the Bear
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: Following the conclusion of the dragon and vampire crises in Skyrim, the fragile peace shatters. Now under pressure from the Dominion, the war between the Empire of Cyrodiil and the rebels led by Ulfric Stormcloak reaches a feverish pitch. Sequel to "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", rated M for violence and less frequent language.
1. Prologue - The Rising Threat

**(AN: Yeah, creative title, I know. But here we are again, back in Tamriel, the Beauty of Dawn, to bring you the second part of the tale of Eirik Bjornsson the Dragonborn. Same cast as before - Eirik the Dragonborn, Mjoll the Lioness, Crixus the Imperial Legate [of course he won't die: everyone on _FanFiction_ love the Empire, they don't want to see the Empire's paragon of virtue and tolerance to be slain!], Lydia the Huscarl, etc. We will see a few new characters as well as expansion of minor roles from the last story. Serana probably won't have that big a role, though she will make a cameo here and there.)  
**

**(While the last story, _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, the story to which this is the sequel, was more or less guided by the established story of the game, this will explore an alternate end for the war as well as pushing the boundaries of how the Civil War in Skyrim might escalate. More boundaries will be pushed [though I doubt we'll be shooting for another 100+ chapter, 500,000+ word epic like the last one]. Some big stuff will be going on, and I do mean BIG. People will die, not just nameless and faceless bandits, but actually people with names.)**

* * *

**Prologue - The Rising Threat**

Elenwen did not like to be kept waiting. There was precious little time for the accomplishment of her goals and so far, they had been all but thwarted. It was nothing short of a miracle - not of Auri-El, obviously - that that dragon had appeared in Helgen as it had. Whoever had called Ulfric Stormcloak out of Windhelm and towards the border was someone the Thalmor needed to find and eliminate, for they would threaten the entire operation.

Yes, the operation. It was for that reason that she was sitting in her own office in Solitude, waiting for her guest to arrive. The Stormcloaks wisely distrusted the Thalmor: they were foolish but useful puppets. The Empire, who had but twenty years ago opposed them, were sueing for peace with the Thalmor: they were working out their own destruction. She knew, as well as Ondolemar and Ancano, her agents in the East and the West, knew that Skyrim and the Empire of Cyrodiil rose and fall at the will of the Dominion. Soon it would be time for their people to know that truth as well.

Suddenly the door was thrown open. There stood High Justicar Thelgil, whose appearance in Solitude several months ago had caused a sensation, especially when that meddlesome Nord had escaped the headsman's block. Now he stood once more in her office, towering over her while gazing down his thin, boney nose at her with his squint, yellow eyes.

"High Justicar," Elenwen greeted with thinly veiled contempt. "It's an honor to have you back in Skyrim."

"What kind of an honor do you call that?" he asked in a deep, menacing, autocratic voice. "It's cold and the people sicken me. Snow-backs, barbarians, the lot of them! Wouldn't give a bucket of piss to one if they asked me."

"That certainly wasn't your tone when you were last here," Elenwen replied. "As I recall, you threatened to make Eirik Bjornsson's woman your own."

"What do I care of these fat, ugly, pasty little maggots?" Thelgil asked, his voice rising in anger as he paced around the room. "Their very presence is a mockery to the Dominion, especially that one."

"So what brings you back to Skyrim?" Elenwen asked. "Come to steal away fair maidens?"

"Watch your tone, Elenwen," Thelgil replied, turning to her with a menacing finger pointed in her direction. "Your father might have been the martyr Saint Naarifin, but your name holds no weight with my family."

"Which I will never join," Elenwen retorted. "You seem to have it in your head that I seek to give up all this just to move in to your ivory tower in Alinor and marry you."

"Think about it," Thelgil said, a lecherous grin on his face. "The heir to the Aldmeri Dominion and the champion of champions, head of the most influential family on Alinor. Who could ask for a more fitting match?"

"Is that why you came here, Thelgil?" she asked. "Well, you'll find that this damnable cold weather hasn't improved my opinion on you. No, Lord Thelgil, I will not accept your offer."

"Then you will accept my wrath," Thelgil said. "Why have you not gone ahead with our plans?"

Elenwen rolled her eyes. Sooner or later, she knew, it was bound to come to this. "If you had only read my letter..."

"I have read your letter," Thelgil said, his voice changing from anger to mocking jest. "An amusing apology, my hearth found it welcoming."

"What was I supposed to do?" Elenwen asked. "Those apes locked me out of their little peace summit. Even afterwards when I managed to weasel the truth out of Tullius, my hands were tied. Your actions at Solitude did not change the public opinion of the Thalmor."

"I do not care about public opinion," Thelgil replied, his voice returning once more to a sneer.

"Well, you'd be surprised, the Imperials do," Elenwen said, ending with a slight snicker. "They're actually publishing pamphlets defending our excommunication of their false god, encouraging their people to embrace us as friends."

Thelgil laughed. "Is this supposed to placate my anger? Don't you have agents?"

"After the attack at Northwatch," Elenwen began. "We've...lost quite a few."

"Then we take it back!" Thelgil insisted. "What about Ondolemar? Ancano? Hmm? They're still operating, aren't they? What have they to report?"

"Everyone in the Reach hold has forgotten about Talos," Elenwen replied. "Under pain of death. It will be nothing short of a signed order from me that will have Ondolemar convince that foolish Jarl Igmund to tear down that eye-sore of a temple in Markarth. As for Ancano..." She paused, visibly uncomfortable about what she was about to say.

"Yes? What about him?"

"I fear that he has...disappeared."

"What?" Thelgil retorted angrily.

"That fool was almost as bad as you are!" Elenwen retorted. "If someone with a bit more temperance had been sent, perhaps we could have secured for ourselves a bit of magicka to use for the..."

Thelgil shushed Elenwen with one hand raised to his lips. "Be careful not to let words slip."

"But if I have failed in the matter of Ancano," Elenwen continued. "What shall we say about your agents in Cyrodiil?"

"What shall we say about them?" he asked.

"Despite your 'best efforts' to do what we have been doing for the past twenty-seven years," Elenwen replied. "The Empire is amassing strength. New legions are amassing in the south, which, I hear, from a very reliable source, will be in Skyrim as soon as their pathetic little peace ends. With new forces, the war will end in their favor, a thing which we cannot allow to happen. Your failure is now my problem."

Thelgil laughed. "Did you not think that this was not already planned out? Their troops fighting in the north, a swift strike to the heart of the southern dragon will be its end. With the death of that petty potentate, I control half of the Elder Council. A unified Skyrim, whether under the control of the Empire or the rebels, will not be capable of defending against the inevitable for at least twenty years."

"Then we have no quarrel," Elenwen stated. "This land will once more be ours."

"I think not," Thelgil said, turning to Elenwen. He rose his hands and snapped his fingers. "Because of your failure to control the situation, I have taken your place as Head of the Thalmor operations in Skyrim."

Two Thalmor soldiers, clad in golden Elvish armor, approached Elenwen from behind, flanking her on both left and right. She looked at them with surprise, then back to Thelgil.

"This is madness!" she exploded. "Whose arse did you have to kiss for this insanity to take place? You will destroy everything I have worked so hard to achieve!"

"The loss of Northwatch Keep and the treaty you allowed to be passed without our involvement," Thelgil continued. "Have proven your incompetence at maintaining control of the situation. It is in the best interest of our operations that I take complete control over both the southern and the norther campaigns and to place you under house arrest until further notice." He turned to the soldiers and told them to take her away. As she was being removed, Thelgil turned to Elenwen's office in the embassy, which was now his office. He removed a folio from the table nearby and opened it up, smiling as he saw what was written inside.

"Soon," he said. "They will all see. The Empire, and all of its foolish serfs, only exist because we we allow it to exist. They will know the truth, starting with you...Eirik Bjornsson."

* * *

**(AN: Already big things are happening. This rather radical Thalmor agent, and member of a wealthy family on Summerset Isles/Alinor arrives in Skyrim to stir shit up. Dark days are ahead for our characters, no doubts about that. Unlike the first story of the series, this begins with a prologue and will then hit the ground running. Very little time spent on flash-backs unless they're important.)**


	2. Peace's End

**(AN: And now we cut away to our hero, who, after defeating Harkon with Serana's help, gone on to offer his service as a warrior to the thane of his home hold, despite Siddgeir being referred to quite frequently as a Canute [lol]. Looking back on _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I feel that I was a bit too profane. Of course a few choice words may still be dropped, but I don't know if I'll have as much profanity here as in the first one. I don't know, whenever Eirik and Crixus would have a fight and they'd start hurling obscenities at each other, it made me feel like they were thirteen instead of thirty and forty-five [respectively])**

* * *

**Peace's End**

It was the twenty-first day of Morning Star in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era. A Middas day which proved to be unusually bright and clear, especially for this season, where heavily overcast clouds in the lower plains, rain in the midlands and heavy snow on the mountains were the norm. The forests of Falkreath were bright and glistening green with the light of the sun, fresh from the recent rains. On a hill-side somewhere between Riverwood and Oakwood in the hold of Falkreath, a house was being built. Not just a small house, but a manor house. It had long been the charge of the Jarl of Falkreath to have his trusted thanes keep watch over the road between Oakwood and Riverwood, but, as the years went by and Falkreath began to lose overall influence in Skyrim - being once an annex of the Colovian Highlands - Lakeview Estate soon became less and less important in the overall view. However, things had changed in Skyrim since the days of Cuhlecain and Falkreath was part of Skyrim now. Furthermore, Siddgeir the Jarl of Falkreath had, by the recommendation of his steward, allowed the property of Lakeview Estate to be reinstated as a steading for his thane.

Eirik Bjornsson, Thane of Whiterun, Harbinger of the Companions and Dragonborn, was a name that was rising up in the most influential names in Skyrim. Aside from his known sympathies for Ulfric Stormcloak and the rebellion, he received almost province-wide renown for his part in the ending of the recent dragon crisis, as well as bringing about a loose but lasting peace between the rebels and the Empire of Cyrodiil. So it was that most of the Jarls, when he came to their holds after the end of the dragon crisis, were more than willing to accept his sword at their service. In Falkreath he had proven himself to Jarl Siddgeir not only with the elimination of three bandit camps that had terrorized the people of Falkreath, but the culling of a sudden menace of ogres from the Jerall Mountains. Despite his political leanings, Siddgeir recognized that Eirik was valuable to keep around and so he made him Thane of Falkreath and gave him the land of Lakeview Estate to build a house for himself.

So it was that this bright and sunny day, on Middas the twenty-first day of Morning Star, in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, found Eirik Bjornsson and those who had been friends of his building the house that would one day be his. With him were his two huscarls, Lydia of Whiterun and Rayya the Bright, a Redguard who had accompanied him on several of his journies. With them also was Mjoll the Lioness, an adventurer and friend of the people of Riften, who had married Eirik on the twenty-fifth day of Frostfall last year and was now a little over seven weeks with child. At her side was Aerin, a Nibenese man who had befriended Mjoll after saving her from death in the Dwemer ruin of Mzinchaleft. Here also was Ralof, a native of Falkreath who had joined the Stormcloaks when the rebellion broke out. As there was peace, he was allowed leave to visit his friend and comrade Eirik and had agreed to, while he was present, help with the building of his house by Lake Ilinalta.

On that morning rode Servius Crixus, a Colovian ranger, Legate in the Imperial Legion, Thane of Solitude, veteran of the Great War with the Dominion and, beyond all likelihood, Eirik's friend. He rode atop a black mare, dressed in traveling gear with only his bow as a visible weapon and a quiver at his side. With him on another horse rode a figure hooded and cloaked, strangely for the time of day and current weather, all in black. They arrived at the clearing in the forest where Eirik, his friend and his huscarls were busy working on what appeared to be a manor. None of them wore armor, for it was too hot to wear armor while working, and highly impractical, but both Eirik and Ralof wore no shirts, while both Rayya and Lydia wore the plain tunics and trousers they wore underneath their armor. Rayya was about the house, shoring up the stave beams with nails and a hammer, while Lydia was given the task of packing the white lime mortar in between the beams. Crixus brought his horse up to the steading, tied it off to a nearby tree, and walked over to the skeleton of the house, looking for Eirik. He was found inside the wooden skeleton, applying wooden floor-boards to what would be the north-eastern wing of the house, and beneath him was a rudimentary basement cut out into the earth, which Ralof was lining with stone bricks and mortar.

"Well well well," Crixus said with a smile on his face. "Eirik the builder. This is something I never thought I'd see."

"Come to help us build this house?" Eirik asked, not taking his eyes away from the floor.

"I've come to watch," Crixus said. "And bring news. But first, news for me." He sat down on the floor of the north-east wing, which had been partially laid down save for that which would cover over the basement. "I heard that you were moving out of Whiterun. Got tired of being cramped in Breezehome?"

"Aye," Eirik returned.

"And that you're the thane of Falkreath," Crixus snickered. "Hard to believe that happened. How did you convince Siddgeir to do that?"

"I ran some errands for him," Eirik said. "He seemed to be rather pleased with having me around. Although, my new huscarl Rayya says otherwise."

"That's right," she added, passing them by with a bag of nails in one hand. "He has little regard for ruling his hold. Methinks that he was afraid your diligence would put his ruling to shame in the eyes of the people."

"But if he has little regard for ruling," Eirik asked. "Why care if his rule is shamed?"

"Advice from his steward, doubtless," Rayya replied as she continued about her work.

"I see you've found a permanent occupation for Rayya," Crixus added with a smile. "Shaddar will miss her service."

"And how are you?" Eirik asked. "What is Marcurio up to these days?"

"Marcurio is back in Riften, looking for work," Crixus replied. "And my business is none of your concern." He paused for a moment to take a look around at the house. "How long did it take to build all this?"

"Roughly seven days," Eirik replied.

"What about the Companions?" Crixus asked. "I heard you were their leader."

"The Companions have no leader," Eirik stated. "They have a Harbinger."

"Yes yes, but what about that, huh?" Crixus returned. "They're in Jorrvaskr, you're out here. How is that going to work, you being here in Falkreath?"

"Every Loredas," Eirik replied. "I'll ride to Whiterun by way of North Keep. You know they've rebuilt it after the dragon attacks. Anyway, once I'm in Whiterun, I'll spend the day in Jorrvaskr, hearing grievances, resolving disputes, advising on matters of honor, justice and glory."

Crixus threw his head back and laughed aloud. "You giving advice? Usually they wait until you're my age until they start coming to you for advice!" He sighed. "Oh, but have it your own way. I suppose you're the brightest Nord in Skyrim."

Eirik sighed. "Well, as you can see here," he said as he took a board from Rayya. "We're a bit busy here, so in case you want to help, you might as well say what needs to be said."

"Busy?" Crixus asked. "Your woman and her little foot-pad are just sitting around doing nothing."

"Mjoll needs her rest," Eirik said. "She wasn't feeling well this morning. And Aerin is complaining about the work and Mjoll tends to his wishes like a child."

"Seems just like her," Crixus mused. "Anyway, there's something you should know."

"Does it have to do with your hooded friend?" Eirik asked.

"No," a familiar voice replied from beneath the hood. Eirik turned and saw the one beneath the hood lift it up ever so slightly, revealing a pale but familiar face.

"Serana," he said. "It's been a while. What brings you here?"

"Work, and that's as far as I can say," Serana cryptically replied. "But I ran into Crixus on his way here and he told me that he was coming to you and I thought I'd see what you were up to. It's only been a few days and yet it seems so long since we were fighting together in Castle Volkihar."

"Aye, that it does," Eirik replied with a smile.

"Well," Crixus spoke up after a lengthy pause. "I don't want to disrupt your building. Keep at it, make sure to add plenty of guest rooms."

"For what?"

"For when you have guests, of course," Crixus chuckled. "So I'll be on my way." He stood up, then paused and turned about. "Oh yes, that's right. I intercepted a messenger in Whiterun: apparently they're holding their little moot or whatever."

"The Moot!" Eirik exclaimed.

"Remind me again what that is?" Serana asked.

"Huh?" Eirik asked in surprise. "Oh, yes, of course. You didn't have that. I just...well, it's been so long, I can't remember when there wasn't a Moot. It's where the Jarls gather together and select the next High King of Skyrim." Eirik turned to Crixus. "Any idea where it's being held?"

"The same place we had the peace summit," Crixus returned. "I'll be seeing you there." He turned to Serana and called her to mount up as they were leaving soon.

"I guess I'll see you again, Eirik," Serana said. "It was nice to see you again."

Eirik waved at them, then went back to work as they rode off westward, towards Oakwood. Meanwhile, Lydia appeared at his side, removing the gloves caked in lime mortar from off her hands.

"Did I hear right?" she asked. "The Moot is being held in High Hrothgar? But I thought they would have postponed the Moot until after the war was brought to a conclusion."

"I suppose they saw the peace we made as a reason to get the Moot over and done with," Eirik replied. "I agree as well. This peace is almost over. Soon the fighting will commence again."

"Maybe that will be for the best," Lydia suggested. "I've heard many in the Bannered Mare say that the Moot is all pomp and show, and that the future High King is already decided by the Empire."

"Aye, that's the truth of it," Ralof spoke up. "Whatever they're planning at High Hrothgar, it can't be good. Any candidates presented will likely be Imperial sympathizers."

"That's likely," Eirik sighed. "Still, I feel that we should at least go and see what it will be. The voice of the Dragonborn must certainly be heard."

"Well, I won't be going," Ralof replied. "Someone has to finish this up." Both Eirik and Ralof laughed, while Lydia made a 'hmph' sound and went back to work. "Besides, it sounds to me like a trap. I wouldn't trust them, not after the seventeenth of Last Seed."

"Then you may stay," Eirik smiled. "But I will go, and so will my wife and my huscarl Lydia."

"Aye," Ralof grumbled. "I'll see if I can get my brother-in-law Hod to lend some workers to this. Maybe even he himself could do some work."

"Thank you, Ralof," Eirik said. "You're a good friend."

"Dragonborn," Ralof scoffed playfully. "Who was the dragon? Your pa or your mum?"

* * *

**(AN: Already things are shaping up once again in the land of Skyrim.)**

**(My brother, the Imperial sympathizer, is very selective when it comes to the game. He believes that the game developers bias towards the Empire is because "the Empire are right and the Stormcloaks are wrong", that any lack of plot development or character development on the part of the Imperial sympathizers is because "the developers didn't finish it", while any lack of plot development or character development on the part of the Stormcloak sympathizers is G-canon and indisputable. For instance, Brunwulf Free-Winter, if made Jarl of Windhelm, won't lift a finger to help the Dunmer out of their condition: he says that's because the developers didn't fully flesh that out. While I try to make lore-realistic reasons for these holes, I do note that the Moot never happens. And the game provides little evidence about the Moot. Why is it that the Stormcloaks believe it's rigged? How does Ulfric "have them in his pocket" at the end of the Stormcloak victory that will ensure his election? Why would the Jarls promote Elisif to High Queen since she's so weak and defers often to General Tullius?)**


	3. The Twenty-First of Morning Star

**(AN: For some reason, every time I upload a document to the manager, if I've done any work on it prior to uploading it, all that gets erased and I'm left with just the title. Thanks _FF_!)**

**(Trying to update this story as quickly as possible, to give any potential readers something to enjoy, not just one chapter [i hate when i go looking for new stories and find like six thousand one chapter fics. One-shots I can understand but longer stories with just one chapter irk me. Like there should be more but there isn't]. Another reason for continuing is not just for the sake of finishing Eirik's story and the war [and Tarvis, aka. Kills-Many-Nords and his threat], but also because, while writing _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I remembered the fundamental problem with the war and that it needs to be fixed. Kind of vague but intentionally so that it will be played out in the story.)  
**

**(Also something I never mentioned in the last chapter. I know that the peace treaty was established, the one that you do in Season Unending, just go with it. I'll explain why things have [or have not] changed later in the story.)**

* * *

**The Twenty-First of Morning Star**

It had been a long day of riding for the three warriors. From Lakeview they made their way east and north to Riverwood, and then straight north across to the edge of the plains of Whiterun, lying golden upon the flanks of the Throat of the World. Here they returned to the main road, which wound away towards the Valtheim Towers, two large towers on either side of the White River, that formed the boundary between Whiterun Hold and the hold of Eastmarch, where Ulfric Stormcloak stood as Jarl of Windhelm.

The night was closing in as they passed along towards the towers and there they made their camp, in the ruined towers. Once this had been the abode of bandits, but, for reasons that Eirik knew not, they had not returned to this spot in many days. So it was that Eirik and Mjoll and Lydia made their camp in the tower, wrapping themselves in thick fur cloaks for the night. While the day had been bright and clear away in Falkreath, the cold winds began to pick up once they passed the Throat of the World. It was, after all, still winter. While Mjoll fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the make-shift pillow - Eirik's rucksack filled with gear they would possibly need for the travel - Eirik could not sleep. Though he had been cured of the beast-blood that he had undertaken while among the Companions and, therefore, had need of rest, he could not sleep. Ever since that second night, when the sun returned after his mistake at Castle Volkihar, his sleep had been plagued by dreams. In the dreams he saw Ysgramor standing before him, the mists of Sovngarde swirling about his mighty feet. In the dream, he approached Ysgramor, the greatest hero of the people of Skyrim, and told him how he had saved the Companions' last Harbinger from the beast-blood.

"Well done, worthy son of Skyrim," said Ysgramor. "Your welcome to this place will be even greater when your time has come because of this. But keep sharp your blade, for dark days are soon to come upon this land."

Eirik awoke confused and worrisome every night thereafter. He felt as though he had experienced dark days before, in the draugr-infested barrows of Skyrim, the Falmer holes and Dwemer cities deep below the ground, the mists of Alduin the World-Eater and the unlight caused when his pride allowed Harkon Volkihar to, for a moment, blot out the sun. Those had been dark days, as bleak and hopeless as any he had experienced in all of his time since returning to Skyrim. But, whether by the hand of the gods, the might of his friends or by his own indomitable will, he had somehow survived even the darkest of days. How could things get any worse?

As he stirred, he saw Lydia pacing nearby where the horses were tethered within the bottom level of the tower. Rising up he made his way to his huscarl. She was clad in her steel armor and her sword was on her belt. Her shield was lying on the ground next to the rest of their gear - dragon-bone armor and Nordic carved steel armor for Eirik and Mjoll respectively - and she looked alert and ready.

"Can't sleep either?" Lydia asked.

"Why can't you?" Eirik retorted. "Miss your cup and chair?"

"Obviously," Lydia sighed. "But it's not only that. Do you hear the howling of the wind?" Eirik inclined his ear towards the partially closed door of the south tower, in which they were sleeping (or trying to at least). Outside the wind was howling like a pack of wolves.

"Aye," he responded. "Looks like the few days of winter-sun we enjoyed in Falkreath will soon be over."

"Unfortunately," Lydia sighed. "But I'm not afraid about a little cold. We're a hardy folk, we Nords. A light winter snow won't send us packing."

"That I know," Eirik said, though whether he truly knew or not was up to debate. His childhood, indeed, had been living as a woodsman's son in Falkreath, but his young adult life was spent in Bruma in Cyrodiil, whose winters were never as harsh or their winds as cold as those in Skyrim.

"When we came here, just as the sun was going down," Lydia continued. "I saw dark clouds on the edge of the Velothi Mountains. Big ones too, really dark. A storm is coming, and it won't make our little walk up to High Hrothgar any easier."

Eirik nodded quietly, though the words she spoke did not lighten his heart. They seemed to be agreeing with his fears and with what Ysgramor had said. But Lydia was merely talking about a natural storm, severe and bringing snow to a good deal of Skyrim, but nothing too serious. She was smart and had a kind of perception which Eirik felt that he could never fully understand, but he had not told her about the dream. How did she now and how could she have known to say those exact words at that exact moment to trouble his fears?

* * *

In the morning, they made their way towards the goat-path in the northern side of the mountains that would lead them up into the plateau of the Rift and to Ivarstead, the gateway to High Hrothgar. All the land around them was quiet, though above the dark clouds which Lydia had spoken of were now hanging over the forests and the salt-flats and marshes of Eastmarch, covering the sun and casting a bleak gray upon all the lands. Eirik was tired, for he had slept little that night: Lydia had, in fact, fallen asleep mere moments after their talk, while he stayed up and made sure the horses were secure before idling until exhaustion finally claimed him. Now he had a long ride ahead and had to keep his wits about him in case they were attacked by bandits or wild animals. But no bandit attacks happened and, strangely enough, no wild animals were about to trouble them. Not even the singing of birds could be heard in the trees.

"It's awfully quiet," Eirik pointed out.

"It's winter," Mjoll replied. "Most of the animals are asleep."

"But this is Skyrim," Lydia added. "Usually you can't go less than a mile from your own doorstep before getting mauled or attacked by someone or something. You're right, my thane. It's too damn quiet."

They rode on through the silence, the only sounds being the hoof-falls of their horses and the howling wind of the coming storm. An hour or so passed until they reached the top, coming out near Ivarstead, where Eirik and Mjoll and Esbern of the Blades had escaped from the Thalmor so many months ago, it seemed like a tale of the early Merethic Era, in a time when the world was young and dragons still ruled the land. As they passed into the town, Eirik saw a delegation of men on horse-back, surrounded by soldiers wearing the blue colors of the Stormcloaks. He brought his horse up to where they were gathered and recognized Ulfric Stormcloak sitting atop his horse, with Galmar Stone-Fist at his side, looking grumpy and ornery as usual.

"My lord!" Eirik greeted. "I see that we are just in time for the moot."

"Pah!" Galmar shouted. "Moot indeed! Those milk-drinking, elf-loving Imperial sympathizers won't hold a true moot, not while we threaten them. This is a trap!"

"Peace, Galmar," Ulfric's deep, measured voice commanded his huscarl and captain, then the lord of Windhelm turned to Eirik. "Well met, Dragonborn. I see you have decided to answer the summons as well."

"Aye," Eirik replied. "As I was there at the peace summit, I will be here as well."

"And so are Korir and Skald," Ulfric said, gesturing to two noblemen sitting atop their horses nearby where Ulfric's banner-bearer held aloft the blue banner with the emblem of the bear sewn into the cloth. "Korir finally decided to move from his place, if only for the moot." He looked about, a look of displeasure on his face.

"What's wrong, my lord?" Eirik asked.

"The other Jarls are not here," he said. "At least Balgruuf and Maven should have been here by now, they were close to this place and would certainly have heard the summons." He grumbled in frustration. "Still, while we wait for their arrival, you have much to answer for."

"The dragons," Eirik began. "We all knew that those were a threat, that's why we established the peace summit in the _first_ place!"

"But you left immediately after a settlement was made," Ulfric retorted. "You were not even there to ratify it when it was put into writing. There were many stipulations which were left unchecked when ink was put to paper."

"I know," Eirik groaned. "The people of Riften are still under the yoke of Maven Black-Briar."

"And that sheep's cunt Siddgeir is _still_ Jarl of Falkreath!" Galmar interrupted. "I thought you had that post changed!"

"So did I," Eirik replied. "But it was beyond my power to control."

"A fine excuse," Galmar grumbled. "I knew this peace summit was a mistake."

"Nevertheless," Ulfric replied. "Tullius and his friends will have much to answer for, when they arrive, that is."

"I don't trust this," Galmar said. "The Rift ain't safe, not while it's being controlled by an Empire-loving milk-drinker!"

"Maven Black-Briar is a friend of the Thieves Guild," Mjoll added with disgust. "From what I've heard, she won't care one way or another who controls Skyrim. I doubt she will actively aid them, since the outcome of the civil war is not her concern."

"Call me mad if you wish," Galmar replied. "But mark my words, woman: this has all the makings of a trap."

"The other Jarls need to see," Ulfric added. "That I am not their enemy. I have upheld my end of the treaty and sent no attacks against Imperial holds or known Imperial camps. My presence at this moot, whether it is indeed to decide the High King or not, will show that I am a man of my word."

"Aye," Galmar said proudly. "No true son of Skyrim drew blade or ax upon those Imperial milk-drinkers. I will give my oath of honor to that."

While they waited, a Stormcloak soldier rode up on a horse, dismounted before Ulfric and bowed before him, as was befitting to the office of the High King.

"My lord," he said breathlessly. "There is a large host making swiftly this way from the east, crossing the Treva River on barges. Their banner is the Red Diamond!"

"Imperial dogs," Ulfric said, gritting his teeth, before turning back to his scout. "How many?"

"I couldn't count their numbers, my lord!" the scout answered. "Easily more than three hundred or so."

"Typical Imperial cowardice!" Galmar roared. "They call us to a peaceful moot and they come with soldiers!"

"It might just be an advance guard," Eirik suggested. "There _have_ been many bandit attacks in the Rift."

"You've done well, kinsman," Ulfric said to the scout. "Now go north and see if the mountain pass is secure. We may yet get a chance to flee if the northward path is free."

But at that instant, as the guard was about to go to the northward path, another scout, who had been stationed earlier at the north pass, came flying back up the pass and practically leaped off his horse, ran through the streets of Ivarstead and threw himself at Ulfric's feet.

"My lord," he gasped. "An Imperial host...they've barricaded the path up by Nimalten. They're making their way up the pass...they'll be here in less than ten minutes!"

"Shor's bones!" Ulfric roared. "Well, Dragonborn, what do you say to this? No mere advance guard!"

"We might be able to escape yet," Eirik said.

"Aye," Mjoll spoke up. "I know these woods better than anyone, Aerin and I must have walked the woods of the Rift for many long days on end..."

"Spare me the details," Ulfric said firmly. "We are about to be attacked!"

"Huh? Oh," Mjoll said, a little disappointed at not being able to recount another of her many adventures. "Well, there are at least three ways out of Ivarstead." She walked over to the first scout. "Have they crossed the north bridge?"

"I don't think so," the scout replied, shaking his head.

"We might be able to pass by their right flank," Mjoll said, turning to Ulfric. "If we cross the north bridge and skirt the cliffs on the edge of the Rift plateau."

"Soldiers!" a voice shouted. "They're forming ranks on the other side of Lake Geir!"

All eyes looked south, where they saw the lines of Imperial soldiers forming up on the southern end of Ivarstead. Archers were lining up with the bridge being blocked by legionnaires in heavy armor with spears and Imperial short-swords. The people of Ivarstead, including the hold guards, had ran inside their houses, shutting the doors and locking them behind them for fear of being targeted in the oncoming battle. Suddenly they heard shouts from the east and, to their dismay, they saw lines of Imperial soldiers forming just outside the town upon a hill of stone, clad in leather, steel and crimson, with round or crested helms, bearing black banners with the red diamond upon it. The Red Diamond. Eirik had seen that sigil so many times, even before his return to Skyrim: a dragon with wings positioned like a diamond, that was the emblem of the Empire of Cyrodiil, _the_ Empire as it was known by many, the sign of the Amulet of Kings, Akatosh's divine gift to the Dragonborn emperors that their empire would be safe from the terrors of Oblivion. But the last Septim had died and Titus Mede II was dead. The symbol stood for nothing in Eirik's mind, only the oppression of the Aldmeri Dominion which the Empire, being manipulated by them, brought down upon the people of Skyrim.

Now the small contingent of Stormcloaks - numbering no more than one hundred and fifty - were surrounded. Imperials guarding the bridge to the south and barricaded on the hill to the east, and more making their way up the pass to the north. There was no way of escape, neither to the south-east, wading through Lake Geir under a hail of arrows, nor the west. The Throat of the World would leave them open for arrows from below and, even if they managed to cross around to the western side of the mountain, the paths that high up were not large enough for a host to pass over into Falkreath or Whiterun safely. As they stood, some with swords, axes or shields in hand, waiting for the other to make a move, a small contingent of men on horse-back galloped up the southern bridge and brought their horses up to the center of town, where Ulfric and the others were seated on their horses, surrounded by the Stormcloaks. Among them Eirik recognized two faces from the peace summit.

One was a Nord woman, whose skin was darker than was typical for most Nords. She bore a look of total disdain on her face for all those before her. Hanging around her neck, hidden as she believed it to be, was the chain of an amulet to Talos. This was Rikke, Legate of the Solitude Imperial cohort and lieutenant to the one at her left-hand side. He was pure-blooded Colovian, clad in the crimson and gold armor of the Empire, with short gray hair and a look of utter loathing upon his face as he brought his company to a halt.

"What is the meaning of this, Tullius?" Ulfric asked.

"You know perfectly well, you traitorous scum!" Tullius retorted angrily. "I knew it was a mistake to trust on the honor of you Nords!"

"I demand an explanation for this accusation!" Ulfric shouted. "I have honored the treaty faithfully the past two months, never sending my forces to attack the Empire openly or in secret!"

"Tell that to the women and children of Rorikstead," Tullius said. "Who were slaughtered by _your_ Stormcloaks on the Twenty-First day of this month!"

"Lies, all of it!" Galmar shouted.

"Curb your glib tongue, dog!" Rikke shouted. "Some of their stragglers were captured. They are on their way to Solitude to be executed publicly as an example of what the Empire does to murderers and oath-breakers!"

"But now we have you, Ulfric," Tullius said with a grin on his face. "Your foolish Nordic pride has cost you your life. You should have known that there will be no moot, no discussion on who will be High King: it will be who the Empire deems best. But you, Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Windhelm, we have you trapped, cornered like the dog you are! There will be no dragon to save your life, not this time." He turned back to the legate at his right hand. "Give the order."

"Yes, general!" Rikke answered proudly as she turned her horse back towards the lines of soldiers.

"Let it be known, general," Ulfric replied. "That _you_ have struck the first blow against my people, just as your Empire did when they capitulated to the Thalmor!"

"This is not the first blow, Ulfric," Tullius said venomously. "This is the only blow. Your band of thugs will die here today, but you, I will see you beheaded before the sun sets. There will be no dragging you back to Solitude or Helgen or the Imperial City: you die today, before your poison is allowed to affect the rest of Skyrim!" He then turned in his saddle over to Eirik, and smiled. "Consider this payment for insulting the honor of the Empire with your worthless peace treaty: you have the honor of dying with your false king."

General Tullius turned his horse about and galloped back towards the lines of Imperial soldiers. Eirik saw beyond the archers bending their bows back. The houses of Ivarstead would not provide much protection, and Eirik guessed that, once they had spent their arrows, they would charge in to finish off any who might have survived. At his side, he heard Lydia gulp in grim realization.

"My thane?" she spoke up, turning to him.

"Yes?"

Her lower lip quivered and then she spoke. "It has been an honor to fight at your side." She drew out her sword and gripped the lashes of her shield. "I'll look for you in Sovngarde."

"As will I," Eirik said, gripping the hilt of his Skaal great-sword: Wuuthrad was left behind in Jorrvaskr after the Siege of Volkihar Castle. It seemed to be that the time when this harbinger would wield it no more had now come. He looked at his right and saw Mjoll, Grimsever in her hands and a look of almost eagerness in her eyes.

"This will be a good end," she said, then Eirik heard her voice break slightly. "But I...I had only wished that we could have seen my child. Our child." She looked back at Eirik. When their eyes met, her voice steadied and, though a single tear had slid down her cheek, paving a distorted line across the painted half of her face, there was neither sadness or terror in her eyes. Only a grim realization of what was to be and disappointment of what will never be.

"Is this it?" she asked. "Is this the end?"

* * *

**(AN: I just had to make a jab at another oft-used epic movie one-liner. I know I used "out there somewhere/still out there" in the last story, I swear I won't use "on the move" in this story, unless I am forced to. But the other oft-used one-liner is "a storm is coming." So I used it, but somewhat criticized its use, since it's been done to death so many times, it just starts to get boring.)**

**(Nothing really big happening so far, except until the end. I will leave it there and pick up with the next chapter. Don't worry, though.)**


	4. Bear in Flight

**(AN: Well we obviously got somebody's attention with a review. Glad to see somebody else liked _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_.)**

**(Ugh, I really need to think up of where I'm going with this story. I sat down to write and absolutely nothing is coming to mind.)**

* * *

**Bear in Flight**

"No," Eirik said, both to himself and to Mjoll and to Ulfric Stormcloak nearby. "No, this will not be the end." He turned to Lydia and Mjoll. "We've been down that path before, the one by Nimalten. We can cut a path through there, possibly all the way back to Windhelm."

"Through the advancing Imperial lines?" Galmar asked. Then he laughed heartily. "I like your thinking. Death or Sovngarde!"

"That path is narrow," Lydia said quickly, keeping her eyes on the archers beyond. "And the soldiers will be going uphill. We'll have the advantage."

Mjoll laughed. "Then let us do this now," she said. "Before we have to pick our way through a hail of arrows!"

"Give the order, Galmar!" Ulfric said. "Fall back."

"We're retreating?" Galmar asked incredulously.

"We cannot save Skyrim if we are dead," Ulfric replied.

"Think of it this way, Master Stone-Fist," Lydia said. "We're advancing in the other direction. Now let's do it quickly before we lay down in this place forever!"

The order was given and at once the Stormcloaks headed north, towards the small 'goat path' as both Eirik and Crixus had called it so many times over the past several months. The Legion saw that they were moving and orders were soon barked out that they should pursue them. It would, however, take them a while to post a goodly amount of troops in the village, giving the pursuers time to be well along their way down the mountain: but would it be enough?

Down the trail, Ulfric and his men were swiftly fleeing from the pursuing Imperial Legion. No more than four or five abreast or two on horse-back could go down the trail safely. At the front, of course, was Ulfric and Galmar, as well as Eirik, Mjoll and Lydia. Both Mjoll and Lydia were happy that they would not die today, but while Mjoll kept her peace, Lydia could not.

"I knew something would happen, my thane," she said. "I just knew it!"

"Is that why you despaired?" Eirik asked in jest.

"Oh, no, of course not!" she replied. "I knew you would figure something out, I just...well, it seemed as though we were...well, trapped."

"Admit it, Lydia," Eirik chuckled. "You lost faith in me for a moment."

"Will you two knock it off?" Galmar shouted back. "We need to keep our eyes ahead of us. There's still the second Imperial force that we haven't accounted for yet."

"Don't worry, Master Stone-Fist," Eirik said, using the old huscarl's last name as Lydia had done. "I have a plan." He turned to Ulfric. "One which I might require your assistance, my lord."

"A true Nord is self sufficient," Ulfric said grimly.

"And a true king does not shirk to fight alongside his kinsmen," Eirik added. "To say nothing of a High King of Skyrim."

Ulfric chuckled. "You do have a true heart, Dragonborn, despite all of my previous misgivings. What did you have in mind?"

But at that instant, as they were coming towards the over-hang where Eirik and Lydia had engaged a troll on their way here from Whiterun to meet the Greybeards, they saw the town of Nimalten - or what was left of it - and the Imperial garrison surrounding it, with barricades placed and men-at-arms gathering up for the attack.

"Precisely this, my lord," Eirik said, leaping off his horse and drawing his great-sword from his back. "_Fus...Ro Dah!_"

The barricades shattered and those behind them were swept aside by the unrelenting force of Eirik's Thu'um. Noticing this, Ulfric laughed, or made a sound that was like the roaring of a bear, and then dismounted, drawing forth his own sword. But when the Bear of Windhelm opened his lips and spoke the same three words that had shouted down the Reachmen in Markarth and dead king Torygg, his voice was even mightier than Eirik's Thu'um. Whether his mastery of the Voice was indeed greater, though Eirik was the Dragonborn, or whether the natural strength of his voice and the power of his being magnified his shout, no one knew. But when Ulfric spoke "**_Fus...Ro_**_** Dah!**_", the sound shook the trees and sent the stones clattering before them. Those who were caught by his Thu'um were thrown even farther away, breaking themselves against trees and rocks, falling to their deaths or being shattered in their bodies. And, when the two voices shouted at once, the noise was like the roar of seven loud peels of mighty storm-thunder all at once. Imperial soldiers were thrown about here and there, smashing into each other or sailing far down-hill.

"Attack!" Ulfric shouted to his men. "For Skyrim!"

From behind, the hordes of the Stormcloaks, with Galmar Stone-Fist and Mjoll the Lioness and Lydia the huscarl at the vanguard, charged down the hill around them and dove into the foray. A sea of blood and severed limbs quickly erupted as the hunted now became the hunters. Legionnaire training and the finest Colovian armor held no merit before the strength of a people fighting on their homeland with nothing to lose. Nords fell on the Stormcloak side, Nords fell on the side of the Legion, but slowly those with the high ground and with strength on their side were winning out.

"Push on!" Galmar shouted. "We're almost there!"

In the thick of it stood Eirik, shoulder by shoulder with Ulfric Stormcloak, as they cut down the Imperial soldiers right and left. Blood stained the face of the Bear of Windhelm, yet he fought with such fury that Eirik, from personal experience, knew would make the heroes of Sovngarde proud to call him a son of Skyrim. A narrowly-missed sword-swing made Eirik leap back into reality as he realized that he, as was his lord and Mjoll and all the others, a step away from death. He swung at the nearest legionnaire, but his sword was blocked by the shield and then suddenly he was pushed back. A sword shot out from behind the shield, when suddenly a large hand reached out of apparently nowhere, seized the Imperial soldier's hand, bashed it against their helmet, then picked him up and heaved him onto his brothers, sending three of them down to the ground. Eirik turned and saw Galmar towering at his side, grunting in approval before leaping once again into the thickest part of the battle.

The ranks of the Imperials were now in total disarray. Those soldiers who were from the midlands or High Rock dropped their swords, ignoring the orders of their captains that deserters would be shot on sight, and ran back down the hill as fast as they could. Only those Legionnaires of the Nords, who, like their Stormcloak brothers and sisters, believed that Sovngarde awaited those who died in battle, refused to quit the field. But even they were being beaten back, cut down or, in their fright, joined the others in quitting the battlefield. Galmar ordered the men to give pursuit, but Ulfric told him to stand down.

"My lord, we have those dogs on the run!" Galmar retorted. "We should strike now and cut them off before they regroup!"

"Patience, Galmar," said Ulfric again. "We are still yet at a disadvantage. Now that their reinforcements are gone, the Imperials on the plateau will think nothing of dropping arrows or rocks down upon us." He turned back to Eirik, a grim but satisfied look on his face.

"You have done well," he said. "I was wrong to doubt you."

"I did what I had to do," Eirik replied. "No one else would have done any less."

"Hmm, perhaps," Ulfric mused. "But this is not the time for debate. War is upon us once again and it does not bode well for Skyrim."

"What happens now?" Eirik asked.

"I will return to Windhelm," Ulfric said. "And see to the defense of my city. As for you, I will soon expect to see you reporting to the front, and bring that young Riverwood rascal Ralof with you as well. Soon all true sons and daughters of Skyrim must choose where they stand: the Empire has struck first blood once again. Now they must decide if they will stand with their brothers or bow to the Empire and their elvish masters. I hope you will make the right choice, Dragonborn."

Eirik nodded as Ulfric walked back to where a Stormcloak soldier held the reins of his horse and mounted up. Galmar, meanwhile, was walking over to his own horse and Eirik stopped him for a word or two.

"Thank you, Master Stone-Fist," Eirik said. "You saved my life in the midst of the battle."

"It was nothing," Galmar grunted. "Your sword is best left in your hands, slaying the Imperials, rather than lying on your breast in some barrow or on your pyre. Farewell, and, until we meet again, fight or die well. Come to Windhelm soon, kinsmen, for I feel the roads won't be safe after today."

Galmar then took to his horse and gave the order that the Stormcloaks would move out. Shortly the small band, or what was left of them, made their way down the hill while Eirik, Mjoll and Lydia remained behind. He now turned to them. Mjoll, thank the Nines, was unhurt, while Lydia had only taken a minor flesh wound on her arm.

"I've had worse," she brushed off. "Just let me wash this up and get it bound and I'll be alright."

"So what's the plan?" Mjoll asked. "Ulfric Stormcloak has gone his way, now we must go ours as well."

"But where?" Eirik asked.

"We should probably go back to Whiterun, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "It will be Loredas in two days time and you will be expected in Jorrvaskr."

"Love?" Eirik asked, turning to Mjoll. "Which do you suggest?"

"Personally," she added. "We should continue working on saving Riften from Maven Black-Briar. You know, I read that note from Ingun, the strange girl. If this were put in the right hands, Maven would lose favor with the Empire, and they might..."

"No no," Eirik dismissed. "If we get rid of Maven, it will be with a Nord, one who isn't on the Empire's payroll."

"Then I suppose we go to Whiterun, then?" she asked. Eirik noted that she did not add 'or to Dawnstar'.

Eirik sighed. Whiterun was soon becoming a hub around which his life was revolving. Nevertheless, it was still neutral, or was at least _still_ neutral, until word of the hostilities breaking forth arrived, and they would be able to hear more of what would be going on around the other holds in Skyrim.

"Very well," he said at last. "The Bear has gone his way, and we must go ours."

* * *

**(AN: Ugh, that chapter took forever to come out! A lot of it was just fighting, which I hate to write because I have to move EVERYONE involved at the same time. Also, I'm running out of inspiration..._again!_ I mean, I had a plan with _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, while here I am literally on my own. I have some ideas, but nobody would buy them because, in this time, the pure, unadulterated defense of the home from an outside enemy isn't a noble trait, now it's called "nationalism" and frowned upon by one and all [except the extremists who sit in their basements, listening to B***** and practicing their klan rally speeches]. Part of the appeal, for me, about the Dark Ages/the Viking Age [and, by association, Skyrim] is that it was a simpler time where if there were people invading your land or posing a threat, nobody spent time talking about whether it was right or wrong to defend one's country, they just did it! That was my original vision with _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and then it got corrupted and I started putting modern ideas into the story, which didn't fit in, so now I don't know where I'm going.)**

**(Of course, in the last story, Galmar Stone-Fist was the stereotypical Nord, but in this one, he will still be abrasive but a little less so towards Eirik, because this story really gets to see the war go where no one has [probably] ever taken it.)**


	5. A Dangerous Proposition

**(AN: Just a little bit of inspiration from listening to liberal amounts of viking metal and now I'm back, with enough urge to go on for at least one more chapter.)**

* * *

**A Dangerous Proposition**

True to Lydia's prediction, a storm soon broke out upon Eastmarch as they were making their way westwards to Whiterun. They covered themselves with their hoods and their cloaks to keep out the rain as they rode on, unwilling to stop for the storm. Prior to the outbreak of the rain, Eirik surmised that they could arrive in Whiterun by evening, just before sunset. Once the rain hit, he chose not to delay for anything and keep on their chosen path. With the Empire soon to be flooding the Nimalten pass, it would not do to be caught anywhere in the vicinity. So it was that they sloshed onward, as the road up to Valtheim pass became muddy and damp beneath the hooves of their horses and the endless pattering on their armor became an annoyance. Nevertheless, they drove their horses onward, sometimes dismounting to lead them uphill on the steep, winding westward path.

The rain carried on all the way to the doors of Whiterun, and they were not spared it as they paid for room for their horses for three days. Nor did it halt as they made their way to Breezehome, and when they had finally climbed inside, they were all soaked and chilled to the bone. Lydia got to work right away with starting a fire while Eirik and Mjoll retired to the master bedroom to change into warmer clothes. While alone, they had a few moments to talk about what had happened lately.

"Can you believe that?" Mjoll asked. "That the Empire would sink to such lows! Pretending to hold a moot to capture Ulfric!"

"Aye," Eirik said as he began removing his armor. "What worries me is what Legate Rikke said. She said that there was an attack on Rorikstead, and that there were prisoners taken back to Solitude."

"Have you considered that maybe they were lying?" Mjoll asked.

"I know not," Eirik answered. "It certainly seems possible. The Empire would want to secure Skyrim as soon as possible, which would give them reason to fabricate an attack. But what bothers me is that they had prisoners!"

"Why does that bother you?"

"They might actually have proof that someone, perhaps Stormcloaks acting independently, _did_ in fact instigate an attack on Rorikstead. But why? It's of no strategic value to either side." He threw his armor down and now stood clad only in his loincloth as he walked over to a large chest and began searching for trousers and a shirt that would be appropriate. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned around. Before him stood Mjoll, clad in a loincloth with a linen sash about her bosom. She looked almost unchanged from how he remembered her: was she not with child? He could not tell from merely looking upon her body.

"It's late, love," she said. "Plenty of time to think and ponder tomorrow. For now, we eat and soon we shall sleep."

"Aye," he replied, leaning in to kiss her as he assayed to retrieve his clothes. Mjoll did likewise and they were soon dressing themselves once more. Mjoll did not wear a dress, but an ankle skirt and a simple tunic, which she found were simple and to her needs. Eirik was placing his shirt over his body when she spoke again.

"What if it wasn't the Stormcloaks who attacked Rorikstead?" Mjoll asked.

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "They said that they have prisoners."

"Aside from the fact," she continued. "That the Legate could have been lying, it is as you've said. What do the Stormcloaks gain from attacking Rorikstead? Now the Empire, they would gain the recommencing of their war with the Stormcloaks. If, as you say, the Empire wants to secure Skyrim, it would behoove them to do so as soon as possible."

Eirik did not immediately respond, but her words remained in his mind as he walked downstairs and found Lydia preparing for them stew. Apparently there were still a few good vegetables in the Breezehome pantry for a very light stew. Nothing meaty, but tasty and wholesome enough for the time being. Most of their food had been brought to Lakeview to be stored in the house when completed, and they were rather low on many things. They ate in peace for a moment, with Lydia eating quietly by the door. At last Eirik got up to wash his hands in a basin that Lydia had brought forth when there was suddenly heard a loud commotion outside the doors. He warily made his way to the door and pushed it open. The rain had subsided and he saw a modest throng walking towards the market-square of Whiterun in the Plains District.

Eirik heard voices shouting and quietly made his way down the dark streets, wishing to see what the noise was all about. Behind him Lydia and, lastly, Mjoll followed, until they were now at the back of a small crowd gathered around the well. There, standing upon the edge of the well, Eirik saw several people whom he both knew and cared not for in the least. One was the self-important head of the Battle-Born Clan, old Olfrid. Eirik had seen him strutting the streets of Whiterun very much in his time there: he would often talk about the fame and importance of his clan and how they were the most respected family in all of Skyrim, then turn around and saw that the Grey-Manes knew nothing of their struggle or suffering. He certainly seemed neither struggling nor suffering, clad in green clothes, lined with gold and wearing ermine about his shoulders. Near him was his first-born, Idolaf, whom Eirik knew all too well. He was a fire-brand, as sharp-tempered as the end of his straw beard, and hated the Grey-Manes and the Stormcloaks with as much vigor as Eirik knew from Crixus, yet this man was a Nord. The last man was skin-headed like Crixus, save that he bore a reddish beard which was tied in a knot below his chin. Eirik knew him as Hrongar, brother of Jarl Balgruuf. He had seen him early on in his visits to Dragonsreach as well as at Kodlak's funeral. He was outspoken of his hatred for the Stormcloaks.

"Yes," Olfrid began. "And I say that it is time, kinsmen, sons and daughters of Skyrim, to drive these heathens out from among us!" His words were answered by unanimous cheering from those around him. "This peace treaty has done nothing but allow these Stormcloak bandits to grow in power and influence! The attack on Rorikstead is proof enough of this!"

"This treachery will not go unpunished," Idolaf spoke up. "And mark my words, friends, the Empire will come to this hold. And when they do, all talk of neutrality shall cease! The time for neutrality is over: peace is for women and the dead! Ulfric has shown to the whole world his true colors, those that we, the great clan Battle-Born, wisely knew from the very first, that he is nothing more than a common rebel, a brigand, a murderer who sends your sons off to kill your women and children while you sleep! It is time for all who do not wish to live under a tyrant to stand up with the Empire or be crushed with the Stormcloaks! There is no middle ground! Either you're with the Empire or with the rebels!" More cheers rose up from those around.

"Aye," the deep, thick-accented voice of Hrongar spoke up. "And I, as brother to the Jarl, say that we have been lenient on these rebels for too long. All we have done the past few months has been to talk about the problem and offer piece-meal solutions that only satisfy a few for a season. We must now make a final solution: soon the Empire will be demanding our answer, whether we stand with them or against them. We must welcome them with open arms. The Empire is law and the Stormcloaks have broken that law: we must break them!"

"But what about Talos?" a voice suddenly asked from the crowd. "Will we still get to worship Talos when the Empire comes?"

"Bring that man up here!" Olfrid shouted.

To Eirik's shock, he saw Hrongar stride into the crowd and drag a Nord up onto the edge of the well and hold them aloft for all to see.

"The Empire has spoken!" Olfrid cried out. "Talos is not a god! To call him such is an offense to the Empire! This man is a Stormcloak sympathizer!"

"No, I'm not a rebel!" the man whimpered before the crowd. "I serve the Empire!"

"Shut up, heathen!" Olfrid barked, and Idolaf struck the man in the face. The elder then turned to the crowd, hands held up. "Watch now as we shall demonstrate what will soon happen to all who call on the name of Talos!"

"They fight for a dead emperor," a voice muttered nearby where Eirik stood. Turning, he saw the face of Delphine, whom he had not seen since the peace summit, standing at his side, with her head covered by a hood but her face visible in the light of the torches.

"What brings you from Riverwood?" Eirik asked.

"You, Dragonborn," she replied. "But let's not speak here. Too many ears about."

The four of them now made their way back into Breezehome. Once the door was shut, Eirik told Lydia to lock it as Delphine sat herself down upon the main dining table with Eirik and Mjoll joining her while Lydia kept watch at the door. Delphine was uneasy about speaking in front of so many, but Eirik told her that they were trust-worthy and that, if anything was told in secret, they would know about it eventually. With a frustrated sigh, Delphine spoke at last.

"Esbern is doing well," she said. "He sends his thanks for your suggestion. The Guardians of Skyrim have been the perfect compliment to the new forming of the Blades."

"Is this all you wanted to ask of me?" Eirik asked. "To tell me about your new formation?"

"Have you heard the rumors?" Delphine asked.

"Which ones?"

"There are quite a few, actually," she began. "Some say that there have been dragons sighted in Cyrodiil. There are whispers that the Thieves Guild is at large throughout Skyrim once again. In the west, it is believed that the Forsworn King Madanach has escaped from Cidnha Mine in Markarth. But there's also things that concern both of us, like the death of the Emperor and the start of this war."

"I know of the death of the Emperor," Eirik said. What he did not say was that he knew, or guessed at least, that Crixus, a member of the Dark Brotherhood, had been the one to kill the Emperor.

"I'm sure Esbern could give you the full story," Delphine stated. "But it is old lore among the Blades that we swore our fealty to Reman Cyrodiil, the first Dragonborn Emperor. Whatever they like to say about him, Tiber Septim also was a Dragonborn Emperor and the Blades protected his line as well. But that line has died out and there are no more Dragonborn Emperors, or any of the line left..." She paused, leaning in towards Eirik until she was a few inches away from his face. So close was she that Mjoll looked at her with distrust.

"Except for you."

"What are you saying?" Eirik asked after a long pause.

"Your thoughts on the war aside," Delphine said. "You have been a great help to all of Skyrim, nay, all of Tamriel, in the ending of the dragon crisis. You are the Dragonborn, and with you as the Emperor, it would put an end to the Civil War and give the Blades purpose once again."

"I thought you were dragon hunters," Eirik spoke.

"We might have begun as such," Delphine answered. "But we have also protected the line of the Dragonborn Emperors. There is no Emperor on the Imperial Throne, not even a Dragonborn. The Empire is in a state of disarray, fighting with itself to placate a few Elvish noblemen over a thousand miles away on the Summerset Isles. Think about it! With the throne, you could end the Civil War, make whoever you wish to be the High King, and save all of Tamriel from the menace of the Thalmor."

Eirik sighed. He was not a leader, and he knew that he could not possibly be an Emperor. He was most at home on the battlefield or in the forests, not in a columned palace like the Blue Palace of Solitude or the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil. He could scarcely manage his own house without the endless help of Lydia; how could he hope to manage a whole empire, and one that was falling to pieces? There would be no time for Mjoll for doubtless he would be shoved away into his ivory tower to sign treaties, lead armies, hear grievances and remain under guard of the new Blades. He had a responsibility as Dragonborn, this he knew from both Arngeir and Frea, but was it indeed to take on the burden of all the people in Tamriel?

No, he felt at last. Concerning the dual menace of the dragons and the vampires, it had been his part to play as the protector and defender of Skyrim, as the old songs had always spoken. He had heard of Arngeir's disapproval of the Blades at the peace summit, how they always wished to 'lure' him away from his true destiny. Whatever that was, he mused, would not be found in the White-Gold Tower or in the austere stone halls of Sky Haven Temple. His calling was elsewhere, and it was not leading the Empire.

The Empire: the thought flashed into his mind almost immediately as Delphine of the Blades sat before him. Why was it that every statue of Talos showed him tramping a serpent beneath his feet? Why was the Red Diamond a dragon? Why had Vilja of Solstheim said those particular words to him in the Hall of Shor?

"If you're looking for an emperor," he said at last. "I'm not the person you should be seeking."

* * *

**(AN: I've been investigating a little bit on the uncompleted things from _Skyrim_ and learned a wealth of information. For one, Hrongar was supposed to replace Balgruuf after the Mephala quest had _all_ of Balgruuf's brats kill him. For another thing, Elisif was supposed to be killed by daedra. While I'm not sure if that should happen, big things will definitely happen in this story. Also, on a side-note, this is actually _in_ the game and NOT cut-content: Olfrid Battle-Born refers to Stormcloaks as "heathens" if the Stormcloaks take Whiterun. Now, if the Empire wins the war, we see that there are some of them that still worship Talos [like Legate Rikke and, possibly, Hadvar], but not Clan Battle-Born! No, they have their lips firmly planted on the asses of both the Empire _and_ the Dominion that they've forsaken Talos, going so far as to call those who worship him "heathen", little better than "Forsworn" or "daedra worshiper". I mean, it's like they believe in the non-divinity of Talos as much as the Thalmor do!)**

**(Another short chapter, I know, but long ones just aren't coming to me. Oh well, maybe they will later on the story. Tried to keep the ending a bit vague, though, knowing you readers, you'll probably crack it wide open.)**


	6. Coming Home

**(AN: Just when I thought my brother couldn't get any _more_ racist, we were discussing Bethesda's blatant bias towards the Empire and against both the Stormcloaks and the Nords as a people in general in _Skyrim_, in that the Empire is depicted as strong, intellectual and open-minded, whereas the Nords are depicted as brutal, savage, drunken, ignorant, back-stabbing, traitorous, backwards, racist and generally xenophobic, and the Stormcloaks being the worst of the bunch. And do you know what his answer to this was? "Well, that's just the way it is maybe because it's true?")**

**(Things might be happening rather quickly, especially in this chapter, but that is because while Eirik has been fighting vampires and gaining titles and land, the Empire have not been idle.)**

* * *

**Coming Home  
**

Delphine left roughly an hour after returning from the rally outside Whiterun. Both Lydia and Mjoll were surprised at what Eirik had said, but none of them chose to speak on it because, before leaving, Delphine gave them all a few parting words.

"Whatever you may have heard here tonight," she began. "Never repeat it to anyone else beyond these walls. Your lives, and, quite possibly, the lives of everyone in Tamriel, may hinge on the keeping secret of what has been spoken. Never tell another soul!"

It was only when every one of them agreed to never breathe a word of what they had heard that Delphine was satisfied and left Breezehome. After she left they ate a quiet but warm meal, and then made their way to their beds. As Mjoll and Eirik made their way to their room, there was suddenly a shout and Lydia came tumbling back onto them from out of her room. From out of the door there appeared a pale-blue skinned mer woman, who was angrily shouting at Lydia in a language that none of them could comprehend. She was clad in only a bed-sheet which one hand held tightly around herself while the other clutched the partially open door. Eirik noticed that her ankle was bound.

"Shor's balls!" Lydia exclaimed. "What is that and where did it come from?"

"She belongs to Crixus," Eirik said. "He rescued her from the Falmer dens in the Wrothgarian Mountains."

"This?" Lydia asked incredulously. "This? What is it, though? It's an elf, certainly, but I've never seen an elf like that."

"What is she saying?" Mjoll asked.

"I can't speak Elvish!" Eirik said, his weariness and this elf's behavior starting to aggravate him.

"No one can," Lydia said. "As far as I know of, except maybe Irileth or Jenassa."

"Look, we're too tired to do anything right now," Mjoll said. "We can figure that out in the morning, okay?"

"Aye," Eirik said.

"What are you going to do?" Lydia asked. "Shove her back into _my_ room? Where am I going to sleep?"

"Sleep in our room!" Mjoll replied. "Just get her inside!"

"Do it, Lydia," Eirik added.

She sighed. "I am _sworn_ to your service, my thane!"

With a shout, she ran at the elf with her shoulder, knocking the small-framed mer back onto Lydia's bed. Before the elf could retaliate, Lydia strode back and slammed the door shut, pushing her shoulder against it while Mjoll dragged a chair up from the wall and shoved it against the door handle. Both of them collapsed against the door, sighing in exhaustion. It had been a long day and they had ridden far in the rain after a hard fight with the Empire. Eirik offered them both a hand up, which Lydia took but Mjoll refused.

"So, then," Lydia asked. "Where do _I_ get to sleep?"

They all retired to the master bed-room, where Lydia fell asleep on her chair while Eirik and Mjoll crawled between the covers. The straw beneath their bed sheet crinkled crisply under the weight of their bodies as they slid closer to each other. For a while they lay between the covers as Lydia nodded off silently in her favorite chair. Mjoll then turned around, propping her head up with her right hand while the left caressed Eirik's chest.

"I suppose this means we won't be able to be returning to Lakeview any time soon," Mjoll said.

"Aye," Eirik sighed. "Listen, love, I'm sorry I didn't do as you had asked...as we had agreed upon. Things got out of hand, and now _this_ has happened!"

"No need to apologize, love," Mjoll replied assuredly. "I know I've been hard on you lately. I should be the one to apologize."

"If it means anything," Eirik said. "I will try to ask Ulfric if I can be posted the Pale. That area could possibly see action before the year is out and it will allow you to accompany me as far as Dawnstar."

Mjoll's face lit up with a smile at this. "You know, you don't have to do this. I'm perfectly capable of going on my own."

"I know," Eirik sighed. "But now that the war has begun anew, it won't be safe to go about Skyrim alone. And..." Eirik turned his head towards Mjoll. "...and I would much rather have you at my side."

"Why?"

"Because there's no one else I'd rather trust with my life than you," Eirik said.

Mjoll's smile widened. "And I feel the same way about you. But do you indeed feel that way about me? You had Lydia as your huscarl long before we met."

"Love," Eirik answered. "If I had not meant those exact words, I would not have said them." He sighed. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know where we stand, you and I," she replied. "I know that I'm Riften's protector, but even there I have failed to keep her from Maven Black-Briar and the Thieves Guild. I wasn't strong or brave enough to venture into Mzinchaleft to find Grimsever on my own, so I feel that I have failed as an adventurer. What then am I? Am I just the wife of the Dragonborn, the mother of your child?"

"You're much more to me," Eirik said.

"What am I, then?"

"You're the one who has my back in the thick of battle," Eirik began. "You keep me fighting faster and harder, eager to keep up with you."

"Is that all I do, though?" Mjoll asked.

Eirik groaned. "Please, I am weary, as I am sure you're weary as well. Can we not discuss this tomorrow, after we've both rested?"

Mjoll's smile faded and she rolled back onto her back, looking up at the roof. Eirik tried to say something, but no appropriate words came to mind. What she had said baffled him greatly. Mjoll was everything to him, he had said as much as that just now: how could she not understand how important she was? And why, furthermore, after all they had been through, was she asking this now?

He looked over at his servant, sleeping in her chair, and thought about her for a while. She was his huscarl and obeyed his commands, sometimes begrudgingly but she was still trust-worthy and loyal. She seemed just as strong as Mjoll - though Lydia, having fought at Eirik's side in Sovngarde against Alduin, would have said stronger - and was no less skilled in the art of warfare. Still, there was one thing in which she was different from Mjoll the Lioness. Ever since he met her, Eirik felt as though he was in a constant struggle to win her trust and, eventually, her love: it was a struggle which he felt as though he was always losing. On the eve of his departure, it seemed as though the struggle had ended, but now, with Mjoll's words, that struggle seemed to have begun anew. There was no struggle with Lydia: whether by reason of her office or by how seriously she took the honor of her people, Lydia did not seem to have a problem trusting her lord.

These thoughts and more flooded his mind until at last sleep closed his eyes and he remembered nothing else.

* * *

Eirik dreamed of a dark cave somewhere deep beneath the earth. The rocks were strangely warm and he saw something red nearby. He was moving along, though he felt heavier than usual. He was looking for something, though he could neither speak nor guess intelligently as to what it could be. At last he saw what looked like a tunnel leading down and out. A desire came over him to go that way, until suddenly he felt a hand upon his cheek. Eyes creaking open, he saw Lydia standing over him. She was clad in her armor with her shield upon her back and sword upon her belt, with a bandolier across her shoulder and a belt with several leather pouches girt about her loins. A woolen cloak was upon her back, though the hood had not been thrown up. Slowly Eirik rose, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Lydia roused him first. Upon seeing Lydia dressed ready as it were to leave at a moment's notice, he asked her about her garb.

"Shor's blood, Lydia," he groaned. "Why are you dressed for journey?"

"Shh!" she shushed. "We need to leave now and quickly."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "I have to be in Jorrvaskr today. The Companions."

"The White take the Companions!" Lydia replied. "_You_ are in serious danger, my thane!"

"What do you mean?" he asked again. Lydia brought over a candle from the dresser and held it over the bed, while presenting Eirik with what looked like a proclamation written in the Common Tongue. This was what was written upon it.

_Be it known that Hrongar has replaced Balgruuf the Elder as Jarl of Whiterun. In conjunction with this declaration, the Empire of Tamriel is pressing its right to quarter troops in the city of Whiterun and the towns of its hold for the swift annihilation of the Stormcloak rebellion. Furthermore, under the terms of the White-Gold Concordant, the statue of Talos in the Wind District of Whiterun is to be torn down and all worship in open or secret of the man Talos is hereby made unlawful. Those caught worshiping Talos openly or in secret shall be counted among the Stormcloaks and immediate action shall be carried out by the appropriate authorities.  
_

_Proventus Avenicci, Steward of Hrongar, Jarl of Whiterun_

Eirik rubbed his eyes, hoping in vain that what he was seeing was merely a dream. But this was worse than a dream. He was staring at a death warrant as the only hold in Skyrim which, prior to the signing of the peace treaty, had remained solely neutral, was now being sold to the Empire. He had met Hrongar in Dragonsreach several times, but found him to be, apart from very vehement about the traditions of the Nordic people, more or less uninteresting. He said very little while Eirik was around and absolutely nothing about Balgruuf's rude children.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"Just what it says," she began. "I went outside when I heard someone shouting. Must have been a few minutes ago. There's Imperial soldiers marching all through the Plains District. There's a press of soldiers around the market-place, it's completely sealed off."

"How could this have happened so quickly?" Eirik asked.

"Plenty of time to talk about it when you're safely out of Whiterun," she replied. "Come on, help me with Mjoll."

"What about the elf?" Eirik asked. "I feel like..."

"Well, we should probably take her with us," Lydia answered. "I don't like the idea of leaving her in my room. Besides, it's befouled, everything will have to be burned before I can get the room back: the sheets, the blankets, my bed..."

Eirik roused Mjoll from her sleep and told her in brief what Lydia had told him. As she began rising, Eirik was up and cladding himself in his dragon-bone armor. It would be heavy and he would have to wear a large, thick cloak to keep it concealed, but he refused to leave it behind. The Skaal steel great-sword went on his back as well as a few papers from his desk in the sack which hung from a sling on his shoulder by his sword.

"You'll have to take the Bloodskal blade, Lydia," Eirik said. "And Dawnbreaker."

"Why am I always the one asked to carry everything?" Lydia retorted. "Why can't you get her to carry anything? She's bigger than me and can carry more gear than I can!"

"Didn't you just say we have no time?" Eirik asked.

Lydia groaned. "Fine. I mean, after all, I am _sworn_ to..."

"Shut up and pack!" Mjoll groaned, still half asleep.

In ten minutes, they had gathered all precious weapons and items from their chests and drawers and wrapped themselves in warm cloaks for the journey. It was still the wee hours of darkness before the dawn and a chill wafted through the boards of the house. They could light no torches, for Lydia said that the streets were still crawling with Imperial soldiers. Lastly, Lydia and Eirik wrestled the elf out of Lydia's room, bound her mouth with a sheet of cloth from Lydia's bed, much to Lydia's chagrin, and tied her hands behind her back before throwing a large cloak over her thin frame. They then took a length of rope and tied it around the elf's waist and charged Lydia with the holding of the rope.

"Another burden for me to carry," she groaned under her breath. "Just great."

Once all was in readiness, Eirik gently pushed open the door and looked outside. True to the report of his huscarl, the Plains District of Whiterun was in chaos. Imperial soldiers marched up and down the street, a loud argument was going on between an officer and Adrianne Avenicci out front of Warmaiden's, while in the square of the market-place, Eirik saw once again Idolaf Battle-Born and his father Olfrid standing on the well, the elder reading out further declarations of the new order.

"'Be it known,'" Olfrid said. "'That, of this day, the twenty-fourth of Morning Star, in the two-hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, that all lands and titled belonging to Clan Gray-Mane have been stripped by the authority of Jarl Hrongar and given to Clan Battle-Born.'"

"Long live the Empire!" Idolaf shouted proudly, pounding his fist against his chest before delivering a salute with right arm outstretched and palm held open.

"'Be it known also,'" Olfrid continued. "'That every young man of age in the city of Whiterun shall be pressed into service of the Imperial Legion and sent to the nearest camp for training.'"

"Long live the Empire!" Idolaf repeated, gesturing the same salutation.

"'Be it also known,'" Olfrid finished. "'That, under the terms of the White-Gold Concordant, a representative from the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar Hold shall be placed in Whiterun to oversee that the unlawful worship of the tyrannical and false-god Talos is not...'"

"Traitors!" a voice cried out. "All of you! How _dare_ you call yourselves sons of the Empire by betraying the man, nay, the _god_, who founded this great empire!"

"Shut up, Heimskr!" Idolaf retorted. From where Eirik watched, he saw Idolaf strike a man in the yellow robes of a priest being held between two Imperial soldiers.

"You've sold us all out to the elves!" Heimskr retorted. "Do you foolishly believe that they will merely stop with the outlawing of the worship of Talos?"

"The _Empire_," Olfrid said, not bothering to hide his contempt. "Has ruled. All those who worship Talos are heathens and barbarians, to share in punishment with the rebels! Now, Heimskr, do as your countrymen have done. Bend your knee to the Empire or lose your head!"

"I will never bend my knee to any elven master!" Heimskr replied brazenly. "Talos is my guide and protector. Talos will..."

The voice of Heimskr was silenced and then the voice of Idolaf was raised in laughter. Eirik saw the straw-haired Idolaf reach up and pull the head of an old Nord from up off the ground, the head that was no longer attached to a body.

"Where is your dead god now, Heimskr?" Idolaf taunted, then held the head aloft to the others. "Let this be a sign for you all! The Empire has come to save us all from the rebels! Join the Empire, your rightful lords and masters, or be cut down with the Stormcloaks! Long live the Empire!"

Voices rose in cheer, chanting "Long live the Empire!" over and over. During the noise, Eirik pushed the door open as Mjoll, Lydia and the elf followed after him. They turned left towards the gates, while Eirik made his way up towards the Wind District. Lydia hissed after him but he made no sound. Meanwhile he made his way up towards the Wind District, passing the guard house on the left and coming at last where there were fewer Imperial soldiers yet. He made his way towards the Gildergleam's large wooden pergola where he saw a black-robed Thalmor ordering several Imperial soldiers in the tearing down of the large statue of Talos that had always stood before Jorrvaskr.

"Hail, citizen," a voice said nearby. Eirik nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw an Imperial soldier standing next to him, looking on at the destruction of the statue.

"I know this might seem as a bit of a shock to you," the soldier said. "But it's for the best. What those damn Stormcloaks like to forget is that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim."

"Aye?" Eirik asked. "Then who is that black-robed elf directing Imperial soldiers to tear down the statue of Talos?"

"Don't be a fool," the soldier replied. "They're only here because of Ulfric's little rebellion. The Empire is sick of war, we want peace and we will do so by any means necessary, if we have to, and work with the Dominion if need b..."

The soldier said no other word as Eirik struck him in the face once with his fist, sending him stumbling back. Another powerful strike to the chin sent the Colovian down to the ground, after which Eirik angrily gave him one last kick, then pointed at the Thalmor.

"You people are blind," he said. "The Thalmor don't want peace, and you're being used by them to further their own ends."

"Shor's bones, my thane!" Lydia hissed loudly near at hand. Turning about, Eirik saw that she had ran up the incline and was near at hand, trying to keep a good grip on the elf's rope. "Why are you running _towards_ the Imperials? We need to leave _now!_"

"I'm not leaving without the Companions," replied Eirik.

"We _have_ to leave now!" Lydia retorted. "If you're caught, they'll kill you! Come on, my thane! We have to hurry!"

Eirik closed his eyes and turned away from the destruction of Talos, reluctantly following Lydia back down the incline towards the gates. Unfortunately, as they were nearing the gates, they saw that they had been closed and a detachment of Imperials were now waiting for them, barring the only way out of Whiterun.

"Halt!" one shouted out, speaking the voice of a Nord. "This here gate's off limits. The city's under marshal law until further notice. Return to your home."

"Take 'em out, my thane!" Lydia whispered.

"What did you say?" one of the guards asked.

"Now is not the right time," Eirik hissed.

"Hey! No whispering!" the Imperial Nord said. "One would think you're a rebel, if you carry on like that."

"Do it, now!" Lydia whispered.

"That's enough of that, now."

"I say we take 'em now," the Nord said. "They don't look right."

"_They_ don't look right?" the other one asked. "All you Nords look alike, what's to make this one any less 'right' than the others?"

"Shout them down!" Lydia whispered. "Quickly, before they get the whole town after us!"

"No, that _would_ alert the whole town!" Eirik whispered. He remembered the images from his dream, then once again the desire to enter Jorrvaskr came over him.

"This way," he said.

"Wait, _back_?" Lydia asked incredulously.

"Aye, that's right, milk-drinker!" taunted the Imperial Nord. "Go back to your home and stay there before we arrest you!"

"Love, just where are we going?" Mjoll asked. "I get woken up in the wee hours of the morning, dragged out of bed and ran through a darkened street filled with Imperial soldiers, and now we're going back again?"

"Jorrvaskr," Eirik whispered. "We're going to Jorrvaskr."

* * *

**(AN: I had originally given this chapter another title, but decided that it gave the wrong ideas in the long run. The problem a lot of people [including my brother] have with the Civil War in _Skyrim_ is that it never seems real, and, for me, you can postpone the war indefinitely in lieu of the main quest, _Dawnguard_, _Dragonborn_, Thieves Guild, etc. And, if you do the main quest solely, the war doesn't really become an issue until the third act. So I felt that it should come home to our heroes in a way. It also builds up the story with some interesting twists.)  
**

**(As far as characters go, I feel that, while Lydia got her big moment in the main quest in the last story, she might want/need something else in this story. Also, Mjoll felt too plain and uninteresting in the last story. Aside from what will definitely happen [if any of you read _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, there might be a clue or two about what might happen soon], I feel like she needs something more to her besides her power [which is now obsolete]. I mean, she's charitable and strong in battle, but I feel like that's not enough. Of course I wouldn't feel right about making a super-Mjoll, but I want her to be still "lawful good" aligned but interesting. These days, interesting for a morally good character means that they're secretly evil or being misled or something, and I don't like that.)  
**

**(As you can see, I loathe Idolaf. Aside from the fact that he looks like someone whose name we do not speak of, he is a dick. He complains about the Stormcloaks when Whiterun is neutral, he threatens violence against the Dragonborn if the peace treaty is done, he complains if the Stormcloaks take Whiterun...and even if you win with the Empire and slay Ulfric [as so many of my readers want to happen], guess what? Idolaf is _still_ complaining! On top of that, like Balgruuf, he's a horrible parent. But, like with Crixus, he supports the Empire, so my readers obviously love him [and most of them probably love said person of whom we do not speak, so they probably think Idolaf is "hot" as well -ugh-]) **


	7. Escape from Whiterun

**(AN: In other news, I saw one of the trailers for _Elder Scrolls Online_, the one with the daedric armies being taken out by three warriors [a Breton assassin, an Elf mage and a NORD!] and I just realized how bad-ass Nords are supposed to be. I know I made Eirik a bit weaker in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, but someone really complained that I made him too strong by taking out a Thieves Guild crony with one punch. And then you look at that bad-ass Nord from the trailer [not even a Dragonborn] and come on, one punch to an inexperienced pickpocket sent by the Thieves Guild doesn't seem that big of a deal. I need to step up my game as far as Nordic bad-assery!)**

**(No, I'm not going to play _ESO_. I just decided to take a break from tumblr so i'd have time to work on college classes and, of course, this, as well as looking for a job and trying to start a band. Apart from that, I'm all worn out of MMORPGs thanks to _World of Warcraft_. Seriously, though _Everquest_ or _DnD_ started MMORPGs way back when, it was _World of Warcraft_ that catapulted that genre into popularity and made all the other companies drop their current gaming series line to pump out another MMORPG to compete with _World of Warcraft_. Because of this, there is a saturation of MMORPGs on pretty much everything [_Star Wars_ has _The Old Republic_, _Star Trek_ has _Star Trek Online_, _Lord of the Rings_ has _Lo__rd of the Rings Online_, we now have _Elder Scrolls Online_ for the _Elder Scrolls_ series, there was even going to be a MMORTS for _Generals 2_ but EA decided to 86 that and crush all the hopes of _Command and Conquer_ fans everywhere who wanted something better than _CnC4: Tiberium Twilight_. Of course, it will only be a matter of time before we have _Soul Calibur Online_, the MMORPG version of the Tale of Souls and Swords.])**

**(But, my rant on MMORPGs aside, seeing that trailer gave me a desire to continue writing about _Elder Scrolls_ lore, so here it goes...)**

* * *

**Escape from Whiterun  
**

They flitted from house to house in the dim light of early morning. The guard Eirik had punched would shortly be missed and someone would doubtless be sent to look for him. There was little time to think or plan out which way they would go, only enough time to see what they could in the dim light of the pre-dawn and make their plans accordingly. From house to house they went, hiding behind each house as they made their way behind the bulk of the Gildergleam. Just a yard or two away they could see the Imperial soldiers grunting and groaning as they pulled upon the ropes tied to the statue of Talos. Eirik looked away, willing himself instead to look towards Jorrvaskr. There were no signs of Imperials stationed outside or around it and all the attention of the nearest soldiers were on the statue.

"I think we can make it," Eirik whispered. "Just a quick dash up the stairs to Jorrvaskr and then we'll be safely behind the walls." He turned back to Mjoll and Lydia. "Stay down and keep it quiet, that means you too, Lydia!"

"When have I ever not been quiet in these moments?" Lydia asked.

"Don't start up with me," Eirik grunted. "Besides, you're carrying the elf, you've got more to look after. Now let's stay focused. Stay low and wait until they heave together to move."

From the moment the Thalmor justicar shouted "Heave!", Eirik was creeping along behind the lines, coming to a swift half when they paused. Then there was the cry again and off he went, up the stone steps as quickly and quietly as he could. By the time of the third heave, Eirik was already behind the stone wall surrounding the hall of Jorrvaskr. He looked back as the Imperials continued heaving and Mjoll made her way up next. She moved swifter and was at Eirik's side after only two heaves. Lydia brought up the rear, dragging the elf after her. For one reason or another, the elf, who had put up a bit of a fight at first but was now quietly allowing herself to be led, was now straining against the rope. At least three heaves in, the statue's head was pulled off and several of the Imperial soldiers stumbled back upon Lydia. Moving swiftly, she pushed the elf to the ground, then crept away as they were recovering and dragged the elf up the steps as they returned to the ropes.

"You certainly took your time," Eirik said.

"It's this one," she said, looking at the elf behind her. "She's causing a fuss every step closer I get to the hall!"

"Well do something, then," Eirik returned. "Pick her up, carry her, anything! We just need to get to those doors quickly!"

"Here, let me do it," Mjoll said, rolling her eyes. The Lioness then rose to her feet and lifted the elf onto her shoulders. She was rather light, considering how emaciated she had been as a Falmer and her naturally light, elvish frame which was smaller than Mjoll's battle and journey-hardened body. Lydia dropped the rope and the three of them made their way to the gates of Jorrvaskr, to which Eirik possessed the key, being Harbinger. The key had not begun to rattle within the lock when the door was opened and there stood Vilkas, clad in the wolf armor of the Inner Circle, with a sword in his hands.

"Oh, it's you," he greeted. "Hail, Harbinger. Please, come inside. Quickly!"

He opened the door a bit wider, allowing them to enter Jorrvaskr. Once they were inside, Vilkas shut the door and locked it. As he was, Aela, Farkas and two others came up from the basement.

"It's alright," he said to them. "It's Eirik the Harbinger."

"Hail Harbinger," Aela greeted. "Your timing couldn't have been worse."

"I've noticed," Eirik said. "Can someone tell me what's happening?"

"What, the Empire?" Aela began. "After the battle with those vampires, the rest of us went back to Jorrvaskr. While on the way, we saw a legion or two on its way south to Whiterun."

"Earlier this month," Eirik mused aloud. "It seems the Empire haven't been entirely honest about keeping their end of the peace treaty. They were planning the take-over of Whiterun long in advance, and they only needed an excuse to carry it out."

"What does this mean for us?" Vilkas asked.

"What do you mean?" Eirik replied.

"We all know of your affiliation with the Stormcloaks," Vilkas began. "But I doubt that you know of the great burden that is upon your shoulders as Harbinger. Mryfwill the Withdrawn made it so that the Companions should not be party to any war or political conflict of any kind. It has been that way ever since, including in the days of Kodlak."

"And?"

"Are you on the run from the Empire?" Vilkas asked. "Is it your will that we debase our ancient office as impartial arbiters of honor to join some petty squabble over dead gods?"

"I need to get out of Whiterun," Eirik stated.

"Why?" Vilkas retorted. "Are they after you?"

"No," Eirik replied. "But if there's one thing my mentor taught me, it was that a wise man sees the signs of oppression and leaves that he may fight rather than allow himself to be shackled under their yoke."

"Some might say," Farkas spoke up. "That those are the words of a coward and a milk-drinker."

"They're also the words of a smart hunter," Aela added.

"Your words fill me with suspicion," Eirik said to Vilkas. "The Empire have been planning this take-over for a while, I see. But for my part, it will no longer be safe for me in Whiterun. I will have to leave, and my family with me."

"And what of us?" Vilkas asked.

Eirik paused to consider what Vilkas was saying. Though he had been silent as far as the Greybeards with their platform of non-involvement during the Civil War - especially after he heard the story of Jurgen Windcaller and met him in person in the Hall of Valor - the Companions were not hermits dedicated to Kyne and the peaceful use of the Voice. They were warriors and the battlefield was where the warrior belonged. A fear had overcome him that his usefulness would fade after slaying Alduin, but now, with the war seemingly back on in full force, the blood of the warrior burned hot within his veins. He was needed and he would not stand idly by while war reared its ugly head once again. Though he feared outliving his usefulness and was coming around to accepting idea of settling down with Mjoll in Falkreath and raising a family, war was the only way now. But the things he had seen and heard during his time with Crixus returned into memory; all of them from the taunts of being a blood-thirsty, war-mongering, drunken Nord to how the Empire _needed_ to win the war. It _needed_ to win, for the stability and greater good of the Empire.

"You may do as you have done since the days of old," Eirik said, addressing them all. "This war is not about the elves and their hatred of Talos, it's about the life and death of the Empire. But mark my words: if this war ends badly for the Empire, you will have the Dominion to deal with, and they will not allow you to remain unmolested by reason of non-involvement. And what will you do then?"

"We will fight them, as we have fought all of our enemies in the past," Farkas said.

"And if you fall?" Eirik asked.

"Then we die," Aela answered. "And we go to the Hunting Grounds, or Sovngarde or whatever damned place Athis believes Dunmer go to when they die."

"Aela!" Vilkas hissed back at his shield-sister.

"What?" Aela asked. "They know about it." She gestured to Mjoll and Lydia.

"But they're not part of the Inner Circle!" he replied.

"Maybe we should make them part of the Circle?" Aela suggested with a chuckle. "They certainly spend quite a bit of time around us to be counted shield-sisters, whether by right or not." She looked over both Mjoll and Lydia. "You and me, Lioness, should share a drink in Jorrvaskr whilst we compare our scars. And you, huscarl, I bet you should knock some respect into Njada Stone-Arm."

Lydia chuckled at this statement, though Mjoll, carrying the struggling elf on her shoulder, said nothing. Eirik, meanwhile, was not in the mood for small talk.

"Can we use the Underforge to escape from Whiterun?" Eirik asked. "We'll find our own horses, but we just need to use the Underforge."

Vilkas sighed. "You know the way. But don't expect us to come to your aid if you decide to pick a fight with the Empire."

Eirik made no immediate response, but turned his attention to Aela. "Until I return, you are to act in my stead as the Harbinger. If any question of rule or honor arises, I ask that you judge wisely, honor the traditions of the Companions and show respect to your fellow brothers and sisters of the shield. If I do not return, choose whom you will to be your new Harbinger and follow him as well as you have followed me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Harbinger," Aela nodded.

Turning them to the others, Eirik made for the door back out of Jorrvaskr when he saw Lydia seeming as though she would linger behind. He turned and walked over to his huscarl.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You said you needed to leave," she replied. "You and your family."

Eirik smiled. "You_ are_ family, Lydia." He held out his left hand, the one that didn't wipe his ass when shitting, and offered it to Lydia. With a smile, she took his hand firmly with her left hand.

This done, they made their way out of the doors of Jorrvaskr and turned towards the great rocky shelf upon which stood the Skyforge. They had not walked within the shadow of the great eagle-like rock formation when suddenly the elf upon Mjoll's shoulders began kicking and squirming and screaming as loudly as she could through the gag.

"Hurry!" Lydia cried from the rear. "Half of Whiterun heard that cry!"

Eirik ran to the wall of the great stone shelf and looked for an opening. He found a small niche which gave slightly as his hand pressed upon it, which sent a stone door hidden in the rocky wall, to slide open for them. Mjoll rushed in first, carrying the elf, while Lydia followed shortly afterwards. Eirik came up last, pulling the great pull-chain within to seal the stone door behind them. How long it was before their pursuers discovered how to open the Underforge, or if the Companions would reveal its secret to the Imperials if they asked, Eirik knew not.

"Which way?" Lydia asked.

"To the right," Eirik stated, as the memories of this room came rushing back into his mind.

It would not be long now. They turned right and made their way through the tunnel that wound its way through the side of the hill upon which Whiterun was built. The tunnel terminated in a rather heft drop of seven feet to the bottom of the ground. Eirik leaped out first, then turned to Mjoll and helped bring the elf down after them. The Lioness and Lydia then followed suit, climbing down out of the tunnel onto the high ground at the foot of the hill of Whiterun. Dawn was still far away, but the blue of early morning was starting to gather in the sky in the east. In the dim light they saw that the tunnel terminated out of the base of a tower on the wall of Whiterun, against which they rested for a spell.

"Alright, we've made it," Eirik sighed in relief once they were out of Whiterun.

"Which way do we go now?" Mjoll asked. "The Rift won't be safe for us, and it would be too risky to go south back to Falkreath, especially if what we've heard about Jarl Siddgeir is true."

"I still feel as though we've been followed," Eirik said. There were no sounds of pursuit, but then again all of Whiterun was in chaos from the take-over that it would be almost impossible for them to discern if they were being pursued.

"If that's the case," Mjoll replied. "We won't be getting anywhere without horses."

"I can run down to the stables," Lydia said. "And see if I can get our horses free for us. With your permission, my thane."

"Of course! Go right ahead." said Eirik.

Eirik and Mjoll remained behind with the elf between them while Lydia ran along the south-eastern edge of the wall of Whiterun, making her way towards the stables. The minutes ticked away like hours, and both Eirik and Mjoll would have become bored if not for the danger into which they had fallen. At least half an hour passed before Lydia appeared again, leading two horses by the bridle. She explained to them that she couldn't get more than two, having only two hands and seeing as how the ascent to Whiterun was also filled with Imperials and she had barely made it back. Eirik did not press the matter but told them that they would mount up swiftly and depart north, for the snows of the Pale.

* * *

**(AN: Yay, a new chapter. And I got to have a light and funny moment based on Lydia's behavior in the game with the whole sneaking around the Imperials tearing down the statue of Talos. Also yay for no reviews! I think there might have been like one already, but I've been updating quite a bit and still no reviews. Glad to know this story is off to such a great start. At least _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ had a bunch of pissed off Imperial-loving _Morrowind_ hipsters criticizing every decision I made reviewing every chapter. I know I've made a few blatant errors that I haven't fixed [I'll get to _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, just wait], but some of them don't fit right. Like when I said that using the expletive "hell" rolled off the tongue easier than "Oblivion" and it seemed like lame, cheesy _Syfy_ original B-movie shit to say "Go to Oblivion!" I've always heard "concordant", and unless we're going with my Christianization of Scandinavia analogy and the Dominion really are the Catholic Church, it would be "concordant" over "concordat". Also this is one of those rare occasions where I pull the "this is my fan-fic and I can do what I want" card [which I rarely ever do] and say that "justicar" is easier to pronounce and quicker to say than "justiciar".)**

**(I know I talk about my brother and his opinions of _Skyrim_ a lot, but that's because he's the only one I can talk to about it. Oi, well anyway, here's another question for you all [all one of you, lol]: how great do you believe was the extent of the damage the Dominion wrought upon Cyrodiil during the Great War? The game lore seems to say it was quite extensive, with cities being burned, the Imperial City sacked and the White-Gold Tower damaged. My brother, in another moment of hypocritical head-canon, believes that the Dominion were so strong that the Empire was forced to sign the White-Gold Concordant, but yet they were not strong enough to inflict lasting damage upon the people of Cyrodiil and they rebuilt the Empire up to its _Oblivion_-era glory in under twenty years.)**


	8. An Unexpected Meeting

**(AN: My brother and I [as most of these author's notes begin] were discussing _Skyrim_ and he once again brought up that I should bring in some of his original characters, particularly an Uncle Tom Nord whom Crixus [surprisingly] trusts, likely because of his allegiance to the Empire.)**

**(Also, yay, many favorites and followers...but no reviews? I said it for all 112 chapters of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and I really don't want to say it again [it should be understood], but if I must...please review?)**

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**An Unexpected Meeting  
**

They rode north away from Whiterun as the morning was rising upon the hold, covering the plains in oceans of golden light. Whiterun seemed at peace behind them, yet they knew all too well that there was no peace behind those walls. They continued riding north, passing the north tower and making their way at last to the southern end of Heljarchen Vale, where the snows clung to the uplands of the valley. Here they halted, a safe distance from any in Whiterun who might be pursuing them for the moment.

"My thane," Lydia spoke first after the long, silent ride from the walls of Whiterun to Heljarchen Vale. "I might not be up to date on current events, but isn't the Pale currently under Imperial control? It was given to the Empire at the peace summit."

"I remember," Eirik sighed. "And I doubt that General Tullius spared any time in finding a replacement for Skald the Elder." He sighed. "'Tis a grim day for Skyrim, to be sure."

"Then why are we going into enemy territory?" Lydia asked.

"We just needed to get out of Whiterun," Eirik returned. "If anything, we should be making east for Windhelm. And now that we're out of the city, we can do that."

"But first," Lydia said, gesturing to the elf on the back of her horse. "We need to figure out what to do with this one. She'll just get in our way, especially in a fight."

"You're right," Eirik mused. "We can't take her to Windhelm." Eirik looked over his shoulder to Mjoll. "What about Aerin? Couldn't he take her in?"

"Aerin is in Falkreath," Mjoll replied. "We would have to go back the way we came to reach Lakeview Estate."

"Damn," Eirik breathed. "So, the only option seems to be to drag her with us all the way to Windhelm."

"Can we _not_ do that?" Lydia asked. "She might not be able to move much, but she squirms and her mumbling is starting to annoy me."

"You complain quite a bit, you know that?" Mjoll spoke up. "You remind me of Dremla Varys of House Redoran. I met him while I was traveling the ash-wastes in what was left of Morrowind..."

"We don't want to hear about your experiences with the Dunmer!" Lydia exclaimed.

"...always acting self-entitled about every damn thing," Mjoll continued. "Complaining constantly about this and about that..."

"Now is not the time for arguing!" Eirik suddenly spoke up. "Look! Up the north road!"

Both Mjoll and Lydia turned their eyes up towards the north road as directed. From there they saw two riders coming down the north road to meet them, making as though they were on their way from Dawnstar in the north of the Pale. They halted for a while as Eirik drew out his sword and Lydia her own. Behind him, Eirik felt Mjoll shift as she reached for Grimsever behind him, though he doubted there would be much room. The two specs were now close enough that Eirik could make out vaguely what they were. The foremost figure rode a white stallion but was clad from head to toe all in black, and black was the hood that fell down over his face and black was the mask that had his face. Behind him was a large man, definitely a Nord by his sheer size and the long, unbound locks of golden hair that bounced upon his shoulders as he rode alongside the black-clad man. Eirik's hands tightened around his sword's hilt when he saw that the large Nord was clad in the armor of the Imperial Legion. He was one of them, like as not, though a Nord, but he was away from his cohort and with this strange figure all in black.

Presently they made their way up towards them and came to a halt at ten paces. Eirik prepared to say something in challenge to the newcomers, but the one in black held up his hand in gesture of parley. He then urged his horse to walk towards them, coming now within a pace or three of their horses. Here he removed his mask and threw back his hood, revealing a face that Eirik was not entirely pleased to see.

"Shor's bones!" he exclaimed. "You have quite a bit of nerve showing your face in my presence after what you've done."

"I must be doing something right then," Crixus said with his characteristic smug grin upon his face.

"And who is this behind you?" Eirik asked. "I thought you didn't take with Nords."

"I never said that," Crixus replied.

"Yes you have, to my very face, in fact!" Eirik retorted. "You've called us all a bunch of ignorant, drunken, back-stabbing murderers and traitors, rolling among shit in our own thatched barns and thumping our breasts like trolls as we preach of Talos."

Crixus chuckled. "Oh, the thing your mind fabricates!"

"You have said those words and you know it!" Eirik shouted, losing his patience.

"Whatever," Crixus said in disbelief, rolling his eyes.

"I ought to kill you where you stand," Eirik replied. "You led us into a trap. Or maybe you don't remember that, huh? Maybe you've chosen to forget when you told us about the moot in High Hrothgar, which turned out to be a trap by General Tullius!"

Crixus laughed again. "I don't even know where you come up with half of these cox-combed fantasies of yours!"

"Don't lie to me!" Eirik roared, and the sound was so great that his horse neighed in fright.

"First of all," Crixus replied. "General Tullius would never stoop so low as to resort to subterfuge, unlike your Ulfric."

"Secondly?" Eirik asked.

"That's it," Crixus stated.

"You don't say first of all," Eirik replied. "Unless you have more to add."

"Don't lecture _me_!" Crixus roared. "You're not my better!"

At this, the large Nord brought his horse up alongside Crixus, with one hand upon the haft of what appeared to be a great-sword upon his back.

"Is there trouble?" he asked. "I thought I heard challenges."

"All is well, Torgrim," Crixus returned. "Just putting another one of Ulfric Stormcloak's cock suckers in his place."

Eirik saw now just how large this Nord really was. Eirik was tall and well built, even by Nordic standards, but this man was a mountain of muscle. Easily a head taller than Eirik, he towered over even Crixus. When he spoke, his voice seemed to set the stones rumbling, as though he himself had the Gift of the Voice in each and every word he spoke, like the Greybeards. His beard, also, was thick and long, like a single sheaf of wheat growing from his chin.

"So, is this your friend?" Torgrim asked Crixus, speaking of Eirik.

"_He_ is not my friend," Eirik said. "He is a liar and a murderer, who hates everything of our people and our culture."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Torgrim responded. "He seems rather amiable to myself. Perhaps he cannot stand the stench of traitors."

"Another whipped dog, like the Battle-Borns," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "I can see why you favor him."

"I am no man's dog!" Torgrim grumbled aloud, and three of their four horses shook with fright, neighing and rearing up on their hind legs. "I am Torgrim Edmundsson, a free and respectable man of Morthal who obeys the law."

"And a slave to the Empire at that," Eirik replied. "Blindly following an old, dying dragon to its grave. But I am Eirik Bjornsson, blessed by the goddess Kyne with the gift of the Voice, the slayer of Alduin, known in the tongue of the wyrms as _Dovahkiin_: Dragonborn."

Torgrim laughed. "_You're_ the Dragonborn of legend?" Crixus joined in with his comrade's laughter, but both Lydia and Mjoll gave the large Nord cross glares. "I've heard rumors of the Dragonborn abroad, fighting dragons in the eastern holds. I expected him to be a giant, able to bash in a dragon's skull with his bare hands."

"I might not be up to your standards, Torgrim," Eirik retorted. "But I have the strength of Ysgramor himself. Before I slew dragons, I was a woodsman, honing my body with years of cutting wood with an axe."

Torgrim chuckled again. "You cut logs, boy? That's cute. I break stones. I worked in the quarries in the mountains south of our town, my ancestors shaped the stones that make the walls of Windhelm. In Morthal, I am known as Stone-Crusher." He scoffed. "You're no Dragonborn, you're a rebellious child who needs the firm hand of Imperial discipline. And do you call that a beard? I've seen better hair between my wife's legs!" Crixus was besides himself with laughter, the only time they had seen him laughing in pure, unadulterated jest rather than in mockery.

Eirik threw down his sword, impaling the blade into the ground, and then he dismounted, eyes sizing up Torgrim for what he felt would be a challenging fight. Mjoll dismounted, keeping one hand on the reins while she tried to talk Eirik out of challenging him.

"I know how much honor means to you," she said. "But we don't have time for this! What about the Empire? We're still in an enemy hold!"

"You should listen to your woman, boy," Torgrim said. "It would be a shame for Skyrim if the Dragonborn of legend met an untimely death at the hands of a mere stone-cutter."

Crixus was laughing once again when he suddenly saw the thing hiding somewhat behind Lydia on her horse. At this he drew out a dagger and threw it into the ground at Eirik's feet. All eyes turned towards the Colovian in black at this strange behavior.

"You know I can take this whelp," Torgrim said to Crixus. "I won't kill him, just teach him the lesson he deserves."

"As much as I would love seeing Eirik's pride broken," Crixus replied. "And believe you me, nothing would give me greater pleasure. We have more important matters to attend to." He turned to Eirik. "Matters that require you to be alive and fully capable."

"No," Eirik retorted. "I'm done with you and your Empire. Galmar was right, you Imperials never keep your word."

"Alright, you're gonna pay for that," Torgrim threatened as he alighted off his massive horse.

"No!" Crixus shouted. "There will be no fight today. In fact, I'm actually glad I found you when I did."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "Do you have another trap you can lead me into?"

"No, only a message," Crixus said. He then produced from his bosom a scroll, which he tossed down next to the dagger at Eirik's feet. "It's addressed to you." Eirik leaned down and picked up the letter, careful so as to not let Crixus and Torgrim out of his sight. Once it was in hand, he unfurled the note. It was addressed to him from Frea Stornsdottir, elder shaman of the Skaal of Solstheim, written by Tharstan.

_I hope this message finds you swiftly, Dragonborn. Return to Solstheim as soon as possible. All-Maker watch your steps._

Eirik handed the letter to Mjoll, then turned back to Crixus. "How do I know this is genuine? You might have forged it in an attempt to lure me into a trap."

"Again you go with the trap," Crixus groaned. "Listen, I thought you cared about your stupid people. Well, here they are, crying for your help. What will you do about it?"

"This is obviously a trap," Eirik said. "And I will have no part of it."

"Do I have to carry you back to Dawnstar?" Torgrim asked.

"Aha!" Eirik shouted triumphantly, thinking that Torgrim had let slip a detail of Crixus' plot which he would have liked kept secret. "So you _are_ leading me into a trap. It will be easier to erase any evidence of my disappearance in an Imperial-held hold, far in the cold north, away from any help."

"I didn't lead you into any *******ed trap!" Crixus roared. "I merely told you of the rumors I had heard in the Winking Skeever in Solitude. Whatever happened to you was entirely coincidental."

"What if he's telling the truth, my thane?" Lydia spoke up. "I mean, he hasn't been his usual asinine self lately, so it's quite possible that he _is_ telling the truth as far as he knows it."

"See? And here I thought you were just another dumb brute," Crixus said to Lydia in a condescending tone: like he was speaking to a child who believed himself to be the smartest boy around because he learned to count on his fingers.

"I still don't like you," Lydia said to Crixus, then turned back to her thane. "But his behavior lately leads me to believe that he wouldn't be involved in any kind of ploy."

"You don't know him like I do, Lydia," Eirik replied. "He says one thing to one person, then says another thing to another person, then turns to a third and tells them something completely different: and none of these things he says are either truthful or agreeing with each other."

"You don't fucking know me!" Crixus retorted. "And if you keep putting untrue words in my mouth, I'm going to have Torgrim bash your head in with his fists."

"He's right," Torgrim chuckled. "I've done it before."

Eirik sighed. "Supposing what you say is true, how is it that you need my help? Do you not have no need for my kind?"

"Listen," Crixus chuckled. "You can babble on as many ludicrous accusations as you see fit, but if you really wish to come with me to Dawnstar, we're leaving at once."

Crixus turned his horse around and began riding away north, back the way they had come. Torgrim snorted, spat at Eirik, then turned his horse around and galloped after Crixus. Eirik sighed, though his breath held great anger from the insult just shown him. He picked up his sword, placed it upon his back and remounted his horse. Mjoll had said nothing throughout the majority of the discourse when, at last, she decided to share her mind.

"I don't think we should trust him," she began. "But, I have a duty in Dawnstar, one which has been long over-due. I say we should go there, even if we don't necessarily travel with him."

"He didn't even bat an eye at this one," Lydia said, gesturing to the elf behind her. "Maybe we should let her go, or remind him of his quarry."

Eirik groaned. "Why do the gods torment me with this bastard?"

"They must have some greater purpose for the two of you," Mjoll replied.

"She's right," Lydia spoke up. "Remember what the Greybeards said when we first arrived at High Hrothgar last year. Whether you were the only Dragonborn of this age was not for them to discern. Perhaps they are right, and you and he have something yet to do before the end."

"I would that it were not so," Eirik replied.

"It would certainly explain," Lydia continued. "Why you two keep running into each other over the past several months."

Eirik looked after the two figures, disappearing into the snow-clad pine-trees up ahead. A part of him urged him onward, to see if what Crixus said was true and that there was indeed trouble in Solstheim. His better instincts told him that he should steer clear of Crixus, especially with this body-guard or whatever Torgrim was to him. Another part of him was concerned, based on what he had heard throughout his many adventures with Crixus, that, because the war had begun anew, sooner or later he would have to battle Crixus. While he had no doubt of the merit of his own martial skills, he knew that Crixus would not fight fairly and that going into an Imperial hold would give him the perfect opportunity to strike.

He sighed, fearing what he was about to get himself, to say nothing of Mjoll, their unborn child, and Lydia, into, and then spoke. "We're going after them."

* * *

**(AN: I think I said this before, but I just have to remind you all of the kind of dialogue I have with my brother about _Skyrim_ and the lore: he, an Imperial supporter, takes great offense to how the Dunmer [chronic racists, even among their own people, as well as slave-owners] are treated in Windhelm, how the Khajiit are kept out of the cities [even though all the Khajiit caravans in the game sell skoom and the followers _are_ thieves and pick-pockets, even J'Zhargo], and how the Argonians [who we know nothing about other than that they obliterated Morrowind] are kept out of Windhelm, but then he has no problem to the mounds of evidence of the game designers' obvious anti-Nord bias because, in his own words, "maybe it's because they're right and the Nords are dicks?" That's like saying, in a modern setting, that the statements "all men are rapists" or "white people are born with hate in their genes" are not racist statements because "maybe they're true?" and "it isn't racist if it's true".)**

**(Oh well, I'm back and writing some more...and would _really_ like some reviews. Especially if so many people are already following this story.)**


	9. Dawnstar

**(AN: "Stop right there, criminal scum! Nobody follows a story without reviewing it on _my_ page!" Lol, just for the heck of it. But seriously, my drive to write anything right now is zero.)**

**(On another note, though, there is something I would like to bring up as far as the cities in Skyrim go. Whiterun, by far, is the most significant and the one that most of the players spend quite a bit of time in. Windhelm is the home of the Stormcloaks, Riften of the Thieves Guild, Winterhold of the Mages' College, Solitude of the Imperials and the Bard's College [what little there is of it, which will change in one of my smaller stories I'm planning], and Falkreath pretty much just has the Dark Brotherhood for a while. Morthal has nothing - not even a smithy, unless you build one in _Heartfire_, which would make sense if that is your spouse's shop, since it would be a need filled with a healthy income of gold - Dawnstar has nothing until the Dark Brotherhood comes there, and Markarth sucks. Really, it is not in any danger of the dragons, its only problems are the Reachmen and it has no weight to the main quest. You could, in fact, play through the entire main quest [possibly those of _Dawnguard_ as well] without ever visiting Markarth or having the need to visit there. Yeah, that insignificant.)  
**

**(Having said that, the towns of Morthal, Falkreath and Dawnstar are really uninteresting. Thankfully, my "fanon" version of Skyrim in this story is "semi-modded" [not all those "lore-friendly" ones that make Windhelm all bright and technicolor-y and spam every city with a thousand trees until it looks like freaking huorns have invaded Skyrim]. There is one decent Dawnstar mod which gives the city a wall, a lighthouse and such, which is what I will be depicting in this chapter, as well as more ships in the harbor.)  
**

**(Just as a warning, this chapter is one of the reasons that this story is rated M [and it's not for the violence]. If the doings of a certain daedric prince disturb you, know now that you have been warned.)**

* * *

**Dawnstar**

Though Eirik had passed through the Pale several times throughout his time in Skyrim, he had not once seen the fabled port-city of Dawnstar, ensconced among the north-western edge of the mountains that made up the majority of the north-eastern corner of Skyrim. The city itself, while he had not seen it from the coast after the event in Ysgramor's tomb due to the amount of fog they had to cross through, he now saw as he, along with Mjoll, Lydia, Crixus, Torgrim and the elf, mounted the hill which stood at its south-western end.

Like everything in the Pale, it was covered with snow. The old stone walls were practically buried underneath the heavy stone drifts outside, while on the other side, the snow had been cleared up around the roads and paths. Here the icy winds from Atmora ever blew upon the coast, leaving the town cold and shivering: the heroes wore their cloaks and had their hoods pulled down over their heads to keep out the cold. The city of Dawnstar was built upon three levels, with the lowest level being around the coast. The second level held many houses dotting the lanes, while on the third, that nearest to the base of the arm of the mountains flung this far north into sheer bluffs above, there was a tall palace, a modest-looking inn, a barracks flying two banners - a star with four points and a single circle in the center, and the Imperial Red Diamond - several houses around the edge of the cliffs and a small temple around what appeared to be a modest market-place.

"There it is," Crixus said, gesturing to the city. "Dawnstar. It's doing much better now that that Stormcloak lover Skald the Elder has been driven out. See how the port has opened up again!"

Eirik said nothing, but kept his eyes on the many Imperial soldiers walking the streets. Crixus noticed this and chuckled.

"They're here to keep the peace," he said. "Unlike your Ulfric Stormcloaks' occupying force in Windhelm, only there to secure his tyranny."

"So an Imperial garrison keeps the peace," Eirik said. "But Windhelm guards are an occupying force?"

"And a force of oppression," Crixus stated.

"Since when have you ever cared about the Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Crixus replied. "Now, get your arse down to the Windpeak Inn on the third level. It's the sign with the sun rising over a mountain peak. Torgrim and I have business to do, securing a ship and such."

"Wait a minute," Lydia spoke up. "What about this one?" She gestured with her head to the elf behind her.

"What about her?" Crixus asked. "I see you brought her out of Breezehome. Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

"You arrogant bastard!"

"I would have collected her in good time," Crixus replied. "Don't think that I'd leave a mer woman defenseless in the hands of three drunken Nords." He turned to Torgrim. "Be so kind as to relieve the huscarl of her burden."

Torgrim brought his horse up alongside Lydia and picked the elf up off her horse and held her upon his shoulders. Crixus and Torgrim then made their way to the shore level while Eirik groaned in frustration, then turned his horse towards the third level. They did not have to look far to find the Windpeak Inn, which they discovered was just inside the wall, near the gate of Dawnstar. Here they tied their horses up and passed on into the warmth of the inn. The journey through the Pale had been filled with blinding snow and freezing cold and they were eager to put a door between them and the encroaching night and its cold.

"I'll see to getting us some rooms, my thane," Lydia said as she made her way to the bar. Meanwhile, Mjoll and Eirik made their way to the hearth to warm their hands.

"I hope that we leave soon," Eirik said. "I don't like the idea of spending the night in an Imperial hold." He gestured towards the other tables in the common room, which had several off-duty Imperial soldiers drinking and laughing among themselves. It held all the makings of a potential bar-fight and he didn't feel like going alone against at least seven or nine others.

"I hope so as well," Mjoll said. "But for other reasons. Haven't you noticed the locals as we passed through here?"

"Not really," Eirik answered. "I wasn't paying close attention to them."

"They look like they haven't had a proper night's rest in months," Mjoll replied. "I think this was part of the note that Madena sent me. I should like to ask her about it, though I'm not entirely certain if I have the note with me anymore. I should very much like to ask around while we're waiting."

"By all means," Eirik replied.

Mjoll went about the patrons, asking about the nightmares and such in a bit of a low voice while a young bard sitting on a stool by the fire-place was fingering her lute. Lydia returned with news of their room and told him that she had taken the liberty of purchasing some food for them. As they sat down to ripe cheese and cold ale, Lydia shared with Eirik a little of what she had learned from the bar-keeper Thoring.

"Not much to tell about this place," she began. "When the rebellion broke out, Skald closed the ports. The official story was that he didn't want to be trading with those who had betrayed Talos. A lot of stories about that one, so they say: I hear that he used to beat his servants and keep his steward from joining the war. Well, as you can imagine, once the Empire took control of this place, they moved to get another Jarl in here as soon as possible. The new Jarl is Brina Merilis, a Nord from Bruma who came up with General Tullius and the Legion when the war broke out."

"Placing Imperials in high places, I see," Eirik stated.

"Well, she's a Nord, like as not," Lydia continued. "And from what I've heard, she's very popular among the people, so they have no qualms about her being here. She claims to have retired, though she does keep a rather large cohort in the city. But she's hardly the biggest concern among the people of Dawnstar: for them, it's these nightmares. I'm not sure how long ago they started, but ever since then, the people in and around Dawnstar have been suffering from the most horrific nightmares. Thoring wouldn't say for sure, he looked rather disturbed when I asked him what they were like, but he did let on that screams fill the air every night and the whole town wakes up in a cold sweat."

At this moment, Mjoll joined their table from where she had been talking with an orange-robed priest.

"I've done a little asking around," she began. "And I think I found the one I was looking for." She gestured over to the priest, who gently waved at her in reply.

"A Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"He's a priest of Mara," Mjoll replied. "So I believe he can be trusted. His name is Erandur. He told me that there could be a way to save the people of Dawnstar from the nightmares."

"How?" Eirik asked.

"Do you remember seeing that tower on the top of the bluffs to the east as we came to this place?" Mjoll asked. Both Eirik and Lydia murmured an 'aye.' "He says that the place was called the Tower of Dawn in the early days, but that it is also known by another name: Nightcaller Temple. He says that the source of the nightmares is that place."

"I take it you're going there to defeat this evil and restore peace to Dawnstar?" Eirik asked.

Mjoll sighed. "Love, listen to me. You know that I would follow you wherever you choose to go, that I trust you with my life as I have trusted no one else save for Aerin. But this was what I was warned about, what I was begged to come help with. Before I met you, I dismissed it because it was not 'my beast' of Riften, and continued to do so. But now that I have Grimsever, I do not wish to leave the cry of Dawnstar unheeded." She paused, then looked Eirik earnestly in the eyes.

"I know you wanted to go to Solstheim," she said. "Believe me, it would be good to look upon the netch pastures with you again. But I have yet another beast to slay and I cannot ignore them any further." She sighed. "This is where we must part ways for a time."

Eirik did not respond at once. The thought of losing Mjoll was suddenly very real, now that she had no protection from her gift. They were married and was not he, therefore, supposed to stand at her side just as she stood at his while they stormed the gates of Castle Volkihar or fought in the Battle of Heljarchen Vale?

"You know," he said slowly at length. "That you are free to go as you will and do as you wish. I...cannot protect you..._either_ of you, if you choose to depart now."

Mjoll smiled. "You needn't worry yourself, dear. I'm more than capable of defending myself. I doubt that I will be very long in this task. I daresay that by the time you return from Solstheim, you might find me waiting for you on the docks of Dawnstar."

Eirik smiled and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I will pray for your safety every night we're apart."

After they finished their meal, they retired to their rooms. Mjoll and Eirik fell asleep in one bed with their arms wrapped around each other while Lydia sat in the corner, quietly drinking off a bottle of Honningbrew mead and trying to ward off sleep as best she could. The only light in the room was the flicker of a candle on the short, squat dresser pushed up against the wall, which made every shadow dance in its light. The effect was hypnotic, but Lydia, not one to doubt the rumors she had heard and not wishing to prove them true, fought the urge to sleep with renewed vigor.

* * *

Eirik was in a mist of darkness. It was a greater dark than the night under stars or the mists of the World-Eater. He saw nothing but a low, quiet rumble made him distinctly aware that he was not alone. Then a bright light appeared from the east, brighter than the sun and of a white light. Slowly the light began to fade, though it lost none of its glory, until it appeared to him in a form which he had seen before in his dreams. It was the shape of a woman, tall and worshipful, clad in transparent white garments that glistened like starlight. In her right hand she bore a star and upon her brow was a coronet of many shining stars.

"It has been long, my champion," said Azura. "Since I appeared to you. You must go to my shrine in the mountains, there I will speak to you once again and tell you what you must do."

"Have I not ended the prophecy?" he asked. "Have I not saved the dawn from the night eternity?"

"Yes, mortal," Azura replied. "But there is so much more for you to achieve as my champion, bringing my light to my servants once again. Long have they resisted me, though I am their true guiding light. You, my champion, are placed appropriately to bring them back into the light." Then, to Eirik's surprise, he saw that the daedric prince held aloft her hand and the star in her hand disappeared. Then she reached up to her shoulders and parted her garments, revealing her pale, glistening shoulders.

"And the rewards," she added. "Shall be great."

Azura let her robe fall to her ankles, then gracefully moved towards where Eirik lay, standing before him in all of her glory. Slowly her hands reached up and removed the shimmering coronet, and as the light faded from her face, Eirik was surprised to see that her face was the face of a Nord woman with red-golden hair, blue woad-paint and a scar beneath her left eye. Around him the dream seemed to shift and he saw that it was not Azura but Mjoll, his beloved, sitting naked upon his lap as had been so before his final fight with the World-Eater. Every movement of her body, every sound issuing from her lips and every touch with which she caressed his chest, made Eirik happy and assured of how strong and invincible he felt when in her presence.

Mjoll bent forward, leaning her head down until her face was obscured by her long hair hanging down, then let out the most ungodly neigh. With a swish, she brought her head back up and, to Eirik's shock, he saw a horse's long face where the face of his beloved once stood. He quivered at the repulsion of the sight, then heard helplessly as the horse spoke with a deep voice.

"Am I not beautiful, love?"

Suddenly there was a great weight pressing down upon Eirik and he saw that her sturdy, warrior's body had become that of a horse, squatting down upon him with all of its girth. He couldn't move, he couldn't even wedge himself out from beneath the weight of the mare as it grunted and neighed against him. Suddenly the bed upon which he lay turned to a thousand creeping black spiders, crawling and scurrying upon his back, eager to sink their fangs into his flesh. A hand suddenly rose up out of the vermin and seized Eirik's neck from behind. The mare was gone, but instead he saw the cold stone floor of Castle Volkihar and the devotees moving frantically in their mad rituals. The iron-strong hand bent his head upward until he saw the beast glaring down upon him with venomous hatred. Pain erupted from behind as he suddenly realized that the beast, the daedric prince of vampires and domination, was riding him from behind. But that was Serana's memories, not his own. He struggled to look down but the grip of the beast was strong.

The hand gave and became a slimy tendril, wrapping around his neck. He found himself being wrapped in tendrils like the black webs of some massive spider. The castle vanished and there was darkness once again, but then the eyes appeared. Thousands of squarish goat eyes leered out at him from the darkness as more and more black tendrils began entwining him like the coils of some massive serpent.

"Once a servant of the daedra," the sleepy voice of Hermaeus Mora spoke. "Always a servant of the daedra."

The darkness was suddenly filled with the mocking voice of Harkon Volkihar, taunting him from the darkness as the thousand black arms of Hermaeus Mora were dragging him down into the abyss. He came to a jolt as he saw a man with a sickeningly elvish face: in one hand he held a mask with two horns upon it and in the other he held the head of Mjoll, severed from its body, and at his feet lingered a dog.

"I gave her this gift," the elf-faced man said. "With the stipulation that she remain a virgin to keep it. You stole it from her with your cock. Her blood is on your hands."

The face turned into that of an Argonian, calling him a snow-back and threatening to take Mjoll from him. Then the face shifted again and there was Alduin, roaring at him with maw wide open, a hunger to devour the world. The eyes, though, were not the eyes of the dragon. He could see an old man's face laughing at him, twitching intermittently into that of a woman with dark hair and a nose that reminded him of someone he had seen before. Then the dragon's face turned back into an elf's face, but there was nothing human about it: it was taunting him from out of the depths of the dungeons of Castle Dour in Solitude. The elf laughed as he mocked him of what he would do to him, as the two faces danced within his eyes as well, and then there was a bright, blinding light.

Eirik found Mjoll laying before him upon the bed in Breezehome. In her arms was a little infant wrapped in swaddling clothes. His heart broke with happiness as he saw the joy on her face and the crinkled face of the newborn, swatting fat little arms at the air.

"Come, love," Mjoll said. "Hold your firstborn in your arms."

Eagerly, he reached down and took the child from her. He was surprised how the baby fit easily into his hands as he held the child up. Whether boy or girl, the babe bore the face of Mjoll and her eyes were brown like his eyes. The baby began to cry and Eirik saw the face was starting to turn red.

"What are you doing?" Mjoll asked, alarm slowly building in her voice as she heard the baby's cries. "Stop! What are you doing?"

To Eirik's horror, he saw that the baby was starting to bleed. He saw no cut or wound, but blood was pouring out of its very skin and the baby was now screaming at the top of its little lungs. _His_ baby was dying in his own hands and he didn't know why, nor could he stop it. Why was Mjoll blaming him? She could see that he had done nothing other than to hold the child in his arms as she had done. The baby's screams filled his ears as it was now a mass of blood that was melting through his finger-tips.

"_**What are you**** doing?!**_" Mjoll screamed, tears streaming from her eyes in disbelief.

The voice of the elf-faced man appeared to him again: _her blood is on your hands_. He found himself kneeling on the ground, cradling Mjoll in his arms. He knew that she was dying, though he knew not why. She could not speak but was spewing something sickly and yellow out of her lips and onto his hands: he saw with a shiver that the yellow things were maggots. He looked down at her and tried to assure her that she would not die; he would find some way to save her. But no answer came, only more yellow maggots, mixed now with blood. He cried out for anyone, but they were all gone. Lydia lay on the ground at his right hand, the great-sword of the Skaal, _his_ sword, buried in her back. To his left he saw Serana's head lying away from her body, a trail of blood leading to where it had been ripped off, the blooded Dawnbreaker sword lying between her legs.

"What have I done?" Eirik muttered through tears. "What have I done?"

Mjoll's body gave one last sickening convulsion, spewed blood-covered maggots out once more, then came to a halt. In horror he heard once more: _her blood is on your hands_. Then the body began to rot before his very eyes, falling away into burned and cracked flakes, half like a Falmer and half like a draugr corpse, with each flake falling apart into a mass of a thousand black creeping things. The face was rotting first and he watched in abject helplessness and horror as the face he loved crumbled to ashes and dust and maggots.

Eirik cried out and gripped tightly at the soft, warm thing before him, squirming beneath the covers and crinkling straw as the horror began to set in. He caught his foot on thin air and his eyes snapped open. He was not in darkness, but in a rented room in the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar. Mjoll was not dead, but sleeping just a few inches away from him: neither a horse nor a mound of blood-soaked maggots, but a living, breathing woman. She stirred within her dreams, moaned in fear and gripped the pillow slightly, her breath quickening. Then Lydia appeared, alive and well as she had always been.

"Are you well, my thane?" she whispered.

In the distance, the still of the night was broken by a scream several blocks away, near the docking level of the city. Eirik was gasping heavily and swiftly, his heart beating against his chest like the hammer upon the anvil. He reached up to touch his burning forehead and found that he was drenched in sweat. Lydia placed her hand upon his shoulder and he shivered at how cold her hand was against his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" she asked again. "What happened?"

Eirik tried to explain what he had seen, but all that came out of his mouth were stammered phrases of incoherence, making no sense to himself nor to Lydia. With each renewed attempt to explain what he had seen, he seemed to make even more of a fool out of himself: he _knew_ what he had seen, he knew what it was, and yet he could not speak those words plainly.

"It was just a dream, my thane," Lydia replied, gently patting his shoulder.

"It-It...it was so real," Eirik stammered, tears streaming down his face. Lydia reached up and wiped the tears from her thane's eyes.

"But it wasn't," Lydia continued. "That's the good thing about dreams, my thane: they end."

"Don't make me go back," Eirik muttered. "Don't make me go back!"

"Back where?"

"Back to sleep," he said. "The monsters...the horrors, the images, the creeping, crawling things: they'll get me again!"

Lydia didn't understand what her thane was saying, but she saw the horror on his face. She had gone through fire and death with him and had seen him stare down the World-Eater with not even half as much fear as she now saw in his eyes. She gently patted his shoulder again.

"You don't have to go back to sleep," she said. "Come here, my thane. Let us sit against the wall and watch the candle burn until morning comes." She rose up from the side of Eirik's bed and led him over to the side of the wall, where she had sat with her food and wine, warding off sleep.

"I guessed that it wouldn't be a good idea to sleep in this town," she said. "You're welcome to join me. There shouldn't be more than three hours left until dawn."

Eirik sat down shiveringly next to Lydia. Seeing that he was apparently still cold, she took her cloak, which had been resting against the back-rest of a chair, and wrapped him in it while she sipped from her mug.

"You're a good woman, Lydia." Eirik said. "You serve me well."

"You treat me well, my thane," Lydia responded. "You're not bad in a fight and I enjoy our time together."

"I never tell you how grateful I am for your service," Eirik returned.

"And you never need to, my thane," Lydia said, wiping a tear from her own eye. She had heard the words of the Tongues, the three heroes that had fought at her thane's side in Sovngarde against the World-Eater. She held a place of renown among them already, so they had told her, and she would not begrudge her duties as huscarl to the Dragonborn, the savior of Skyrim: as long as he carried his own burdens, though.

* * *

**(AN: I know they say in the game that Vaermina's nightmares don't happen to visitors, but I couldn't resist doing something genuinely messed up, especially involving daedric princes. Tell me what you think of it: part of me feels that I was a bit too Namira with this dream sequence.)**

**(While I don't know what will happen to Mjoll in the long-run [at least as far as 2024E is concerned], I did have something planned and it does carry weight to the "main quest" of this story. Like Russell T. Davies, show-runner of the first four seasons of nu-_Doctor Who_ [the real bamf, and not for bad reasons like Stephen Moffat], I feel that a story of this size and scale should have a fair amount of foreshadowing and everything should be connected to the final conflict/climax of the story.)**

**(Don't forget the reviews!)**


	10. Journey by Sea

**(AN: Yay, a review! Hopefully it's not the last one. Honestly, I feel that the game developers were already greatly biased for the Empire, making all the Stormcloak supporters dicks, racists, corrupt or just a-holes while all the nice, intelligent, informed and honorable people are Empire supporters [manipulative portrayals much?]. But my brother complained for half of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ that I include Torgrim, even though that character makes no sense at all since Crixus is based off of my brother and, like him, harbors a deep-seated, pathological hatred for Nords and thinks Skyrim sucks in general [no, really, my brother is an _Oblivion_ hipster and thinks, like everyone else on here, that the people and situations in _Skyrim_ are sub-par and a plot by the game designers to appeal to the "evil" casual gamers].)**

**(I usually give a purpose for everyone who appears in my story. Rarely do I end up with someone with no end in mind [even Rayya the Bright, aside from possibly becoming the Falkreath huscarl, is set to appear in a spin-off set in Hammerfell], but Torgrim serves no purpose to this story at all. Eirik is the hero, the savior of Skyrim, Lydia's friendship with him needs to be explored, Crixus' purpose I can't tell yet but it is _very_ important, and for now, Mjoll is kind of on the edge. I feel like she has very little to work with as far as making her interesting but not compromising her lawful good alignment. I feel like there aren't enough well-written lawful good characters because everybody is jumping on the misunderstood villain band-wagon [I don't care if emo-Loki from _Thor_ and the Avengers has daddy issues, I don't care if Flint Marko was so caring about his terminally ill daughter that he chose to selfishly land himself in prison rather than find a legal way to save her from Sam Raimi's _Spiderman 3_ - Revenge of the Peter Parker pelvic thrusts - and I don't care about Elsa the Snow-Queen as voiced by Idina Moonzel from _Frozen_! Period. I'd much rather care about Jon Snow of _Game of Thrones_, a morally good character set in hell...literally].)**

**(But aside from being spammed with misunderstood villains, I have a question for you all. In _Oblivion_, the Imperial soldiers wore heavy plate armor akin to 14th century knights. In _Skyrim_ they reverted to the 4th century Romanesque gear from _Morrowind_. Typically, my brother took offense by this and said that it was stupid for the Empire to "devolve" from full body plate armor into light leather Roman armor. I gave a decent explanation in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, that it would probably be less costly for an empire weakened by war to fund an entire army with heavy plate armor in rugged terrain [unless, like my brother, you believe that the Empire has fully recovered from the Great War with the Dominion but are still at such a disadvantage that the unification of Skyrim is essential]. Personally I think it would be hilarious to see leather-armor Stormcloaks able to weave and dodge and move swiftly around heavy, tin-can suited Imperial guards from _Oblivion_: they'd probably work up a sweat in those suits and get hypothermia. Of course that won't happen, because I'm sick of all the heavy plate-armor knightly orders of _Oblivion_ and how they are incompatible with the Viking-era like atmosphere of _Skyrim_ and, personally, I feel that it would have ruined _Skyrim_ if my brother got his wish and the environment of Tamriel evolved to the next logical step from 14th century plate armor...gunpowder and cannonade of the 16th century. Of course, like a racist, he says that this wouldn't matter in Skyrim because it is a backwards "frontier" country [frontier to what?], but seriously, I hate the Dwemer ruins for how out of place their robots, computers, steam and cog machines appear, so a gunpowder age Skyrim would not be interesting at all imo. What do you think?)**

* * *

**Journey by Sea  
**

When morning came, both Eirik and Lydia were weary-eyed and half asleep. Mjoll rolled out of bed wearily and said nothing as she girt herself in her armor. As Lydia gathered the rest of their traveling things, Eirik walked over to Mjoll and asked her privately about if she had dreamed.

"Yes, I dreamed tonight," she replied. "And I do not wish to speak of it." Mjoll looked at Eirik with her big amber eyes and that was enough. The look of concealed horror and contained dread was more telling than any words she could speak. Eirik nodded knowingly and did not press the matter.

They left the Windpeak Inn and made their way down to the wharfs on the first tier of the city. Here they were led to a familiar sight, the Red Dog, the carrack belonging to Shaddar al'Malik. The design was at least two hundred years old, a relic of the bygone age of the Septims and the old glory days of the Empire. Mjoll followed Eirik and Lydia to the edge of the docks where they said their farewells as Lydia deposited their gear in the part of the hold where they would sleep.

"Gods be with you, my love," Eirik said.

"The Nine be with you also," Mjoll replied. "I will do what must be done swiftly and be here at this spot when you return. And, if the Divines see fit to take you from me...may you die with a sword in your hand." She leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his large shoulders. After a moment they parted and Eirik boarded the Red Dog without as much as a single look back.

Onboard, Eirik saw Crixus and Torgrim waiting for him, as well as several faces he hadn't seen in a long while. Among them was Gorak Giant-Tamer, a large orc who had once fought in the Imperial Legion, Rayya the Bright and an elderly Redguard with a long grey-white beard: this was Shaddar, the captain of the ship and the only person Eirik knew who could possibly be called Crixus' friend.

"Welcome, Dragonborn," Shaddar greeted. "I am honored to have you on my ship once again."

"How do you know I am Dragonborn?" Eirik asked.

Shaddar chuckled. "This one," he said, gesturing to Crixus. "Has not ceased to sing your praises. Just a few days ago we were in the Bee and Barb in Riften and he told me all about everything you two have done since that morning when you fought the dragon."

"I find that difficult to believe," Eirik said, giving Crixus a glaring look.

"You shouldn't," Torgrim spoke from behind. "He speaks very highly of you: one might even say that he flatters you beyond your capacity to deliver."

"Torgrim!" Rayya greeted warmly. "It has been too long! How is the family?"

"Well, very well, Talos be praised," Torgrim replied.

"Hey, watch yourself, kinsmen!" Eirik interjected. "Crixus won't tolerate mention of Talos in his presence. He despises the very name of Tiber Septim."

"Let him say what he pleases," Torgrim stated. "Loyal subjects of the Empire have always worshiped Talos, despite what anyone might say."

Eirik laughed. "I cannot believe this. You mean to tell me that Crixus actually let you pray and worship Talos in his presence? And he never gave you shite for it?"

"Do you see?" Crixus said with a triumphant air. "You don't know me." He patted Eirik's shoulder condescendingly, but Eirik brushed his hand away. With a scowl, Crixus turned away towards Shaddar and his expression lightened. "Are we pushing off soon, captain?"

"Straight away, my friend," Shaddar replied. "There is a strong west wind out of High Rock, we should be able to ride it all the way to the northern coast of Vvardenfell."

"Make it so," Crixus said.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion heard and out from the hull came Lydia, running past two sailors with seemingly reckless abandon and coming to a skidding halt on the icy cold before Eirik. The breath was steaming from out of her lips and she had a look of panic on her face.

"There's...a giant!" she gasped. "Below deck!"

"A what?" Eirik asked.

"A giant!" she exclaimed.

"It's nothing," Crixus stated. "Don't worry, that's harmless."

Eirik turned just as large Gorak made his way down into the lower decks of the ship. Eirik was about to say something when there was heard a shout from one of the crew and the lines were being untied from the dock. Swiftly, Eirik turned back to the shore where he saw Mjoll standing there, looking after him. Swiftly the ship began to cast off and the gulf between the hull of the ship and the dock began to grow larger. He walked towards the deck and gazed after her, waving with his hand until she was lost from sight. For a while he kept gazing into the direction of the Dawnstar docks, illuminated by the clear light of day, until they passed the outer docks and all sight of the city was lost.

* * *

"Missing her already, I see," Crixus said, walking up to Eirik's right-hand side. "I'm surprised she didn't come with us."

"She has business in Dawnstar," Eirik replied, gazing back at the land.

"Still, I wouldn't mind it that much," said Crixus. "A man's best friend is his freedom."

"You know," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "I never asked for your presence, or to hear anything you have to say, especially now that I..."

"I know," Crixus interrupted. "I put myself here for two reasons: one is that an assertive man always gets what he seeks."

"And the second?"

"'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,' says the old proverb," Crixus continued. "Now I wouldn't stand too close to the edge if I were you. You'd probably end up sea-sick and we don't need that now, do we?"

"I've been to sea before," Eirik commented.

"But it looks like there might be storms ahead," Crixus stated.

"I can clear the skies, if a few storm-clouds scare you," Eirik retorted.

"A storm doesn't scare me. Not half as much as your housecarl was scared by Eld."

"Who?"

"Eld the giantess," Crixus said. "She's the one that Gorak tamed. Possibly his proudest moment, and I've seen him proudly wear the remains of the shattered skulls of his enemies."

Eirik said nothing yet, musing on the possibility of domesticated giants. Legends said that Ysgramor had a giant as an adviser and, if he recalled properly, one of the Skaal in Solstheim said something about their last leader being a giant.

"I should like to meet this Eld," Eirik stated.

"You will, eventually," Crixus replied. "Just as long as you keep a respectable distance. I've seen how you and Lydia treat that Snow Elf."

"No thanks for bringing her to you, I see," Eirik mused aloud.

"I would have collected her in time," Crixus repeated. "All you did was save me the trouble of going to get her, but I still have to send someone to Markarth, or don't you remember what Farengar said? That Dwemer specialist in Markarth who knows the lost language of the Falmer."

"Yes?" Eirik asked.

"She was speaking an elvish language I've never heard before," Crixus stated. "That's why I sent for Calcelmo from Markarth. He might be able to decipher something of what she was speaking."

"How do you know it's a she?" Eirik asked.

"How do you _not_?" Crixus replied.

Eirik did not respond but went below deck after Lydia to see what had gotten her surprised, while Crixus followed on behind him. They followed Lydia into a small hold that, like the last time Eirik was on the Red Dog, looked like nothing more than a cargo hold with a few blankets thrown in for comfort. Lydia was preparing for herself a bed on the floor.

"I don't understand," Eirik said. "Where's the giant?"

"Down the hall, fifth door on the right," Lydia replied. "But I'm not going anywhere near it, my thane. I've seen what giants can do to a man. They grind bones to fine meal with their bare hands and could with a single swing of their clubs send a man from the seven thousandth step of High Hrothgar all the way to the western watchtower of Whiterun."

"Suit yourself," Crixus said to Lydia, then turned to Eirik. "If you two decide to fuck, at least lock the door."

"Can I kill him now, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"She's right, though," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "Get out."

"I'll leave for now," Crixus scoffed. "But you and I, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"You'll find out when I tell you."

Crixus turned about and left the two of them in the cramped cargo hold, spreading blankets upon the floors.

"The nerve of him!" Eirik groaned.

"I know," Lydia replied. "Sometimes I wonder why you put up with him. You know, despite what Mjoll said, he's usually more trouble than he is worth."

"I don't know," Eirik sighed. "Part of me believes what Mjoll said might be true."

"What, about you and him having some greater purpose together?" Lydia asked, then scoffed. "I don't see it, unless the Nine want us to suffer."

"Us?" Eirik asked.

"You're not the only one who suffers from his presence, my thane," Lydia replied.

* * *

The rest of the day was more or less uneventful onboard the Red Dog. Eirik saw no more of Crixus, though he had said that he wanted to speak to him later. They removed most of their armor but still wore their cloaks and winter clothes, as the winds from the north and west were still very cold far out to sea with no mountains to block them. They ate little of their rations and drank no ale or mead, as there was no water on the ship and they had to last for the voyage of a day or two to Solstheim without it. Around the coming of evening, Lydia went walking down the halls of the ship to learn what she could from the other sailors while Eirik remained in their room and sharpened his great-sword with a stone. While he was doing this, there came a knock at the door.

"Come in," he said.

To his surprise, in walked Crixus, dressed in the black gear he wore when he had met him on the road from Dawnstar.

"I said we needed to talk," Crixus stated. "Well, now's as good a time as any."

"Fine, let's talk," Eirik said stoically. "But about what, hmm?"

"First of all," Crixus began. "You need to watch that attitude of yours. All the crew are loyal to Shaddar and will jump if I tell them to jump, also I have Torgrim, and Gorak and Eld, who could crush you with their bare hands. You're in no condition to be giving me any of your Nordic lip, is that understood?"

"Aye," Eirik grumbled.

"Now, here's what you need to know," Crixus continued. "When we get back to Skyrim, you're dead the moment we land. Obviously we're not going to drop you off at Windhelm, and if you show your face in Solitude again, doubtless you will be killed. You won't be able to return to any of the eastern holds since they've thrown off the tyrant Ulfric's yoke and have returned to their true masters, to say nothing of those performing the Black Sacrament on you. Of course, were you to join the Legion..."

"I won't betray my homeland," Eirik replied.

"Your 'homeland' is the property of the Empire," Crixus retorted. "Your people have only one prerogative, and that is to obey the laws of the Empire and if that means shutting up about Talos and obeying the White-Gold Concordant, then that is what you must do."

"Talos founded this empire of yours," Eirik stated. "How can you turn your back on him?"

"Talos was scum," Crixus replied. "A liar and a back-stabbing traitor, whose legend, like all of your Nordic heroes, was based on lies and fabrications. The Nordic blood of Tiber Septim had long since been cleansed from the Imperial blood-line by the time Martin was born, and the Medes had not even a drop of Nordic blood in their veins. _They_ were the rightful heirs of the Empire, and it is _their_ Empire, not the one of Tiber Septim, that I serve."

"Titus Mede is dead," Eirik said. "So you have nothing to serve anymore. And what do you mean, all of _my_ heroes' legends are based on lies?"

"In between assignments with myself and you," Crixus continued. "Marcurio has been moonlighting as an apprentice at the College of Winterhold. One of the projects which they have undertaken has been the excavation of Saarthal, one of the oldest cities in your realm."

"I know the stories of the Night of Tears," Eirik said grimly.

"But what you may not have known," Crixus replied, a smug smile on his face. "Is that the bards and historians of your people have been feeding you lies for the past four thousand years."

"What?" Eirik asked.

"It's true," Crixus nodded. "Buried under snow and ice in Saarthal is the truth of the so-called 'Night of Tears'."

"And what is 'the truth?'" Eirik asked.

"First, answer me this," Crixus replied. "Why did the Snow Elves attack Saarthal?"

"They wanted to eradicate the Atmorans," Eirik answered easily. "We were the first men on Tamriel and they hated us."

"Wrong!" Crixus exclaimed. "See how arrogant you people are? The Atmorans were not the first humans on Tamriel: there is documented evidence that humans and elves co-existed peacefully before the arrival of you blood-thirsty Nords. So answer my question: why did the Snow Elves attack Saarthal?"

"They were afraid of us," Eirik said with a hint of pride. "They knew we would become too powerful for them."

"Wrong again," Crixus stated happily. "You really need to read more often, friend."

"Very well, all-knowing one," Eirik retorted sarcastically. "Why did the Snow Elves attack Saarthal?"

"I can't tell you," Crixus said cryptically. "But I can tell you why they didn't attack."

"Go on."

"They did not attack Saarthal," Crixus began. "For the sake of exterminating the Atmorans. That is a myth that your people have been propagating for centuries to justify your bigotry for anything that isn't Nordic. You don't have to take my word for it: there was a book, Heseph Chirinis' _Imperial Report on Saarthal_ which tells the true story, published several years ago, or you can look at Marcurio's notes in the library of the College of Winterhold, or you can even go to Saarthal and see for yourself."

"See just what?"

"The city ruins," Crixus stated. "It's been preserved damn well for a four thousand year old city."

"That's just the strength of Atmoran stone-masonry," Eirik replied proudly.

"That's bullshit is what it is," Crixus retorted. "Your legends say that the Elves attacked at night and slaughtered all the Nords, with only Ysgramor and his sons running back home in cowardice like three little whipped dogs."

"That will be enough of that, now," Eirik said sternly.

"The evidence says otherwise," Crixus replied haughtily, a smile of victory on his face. "The Elves didn't destroy key targets, they didn't even go after the defenders. They weren't after a slaughter, an extermination of your people, they were after something else. Like I've always said: your 'Night of Tears' was more of a stern ultimatum from the Snow Elves, telling Ysgramor and his people to leave and never return, and just like you pride-hurt Nords, he came back with an army and lied about the people who died. I'll bet he even sank his own ships with his own people onboard just to make it seem as though only him and his two sons came back."

"Get out!" Eirik shouted, rising to his feet. "This is the last straw! You've insulted my ancestors for too long, and now you insult the honor of the Companions!"

"Insulting the honor of the Companions?" Crixus laughed. "You're a pathetic band of mercenaries, sell-swords and werewolves: you have no honor."

"Get out of my room!" Eirik retorted. "And I never want to see you in Whiterun ever again."

"What are you going to do, kill me?" Crixus mocked.

"I'll have you banished from Jorrvaskr for life!" Eirik retorted. "I'm Harbinger of the Companions, I will see to it that you never set foot under our hall ever again. I don't care if Skjor knew you or if Kodlak knew you, this insult will not be tolerated!"

"Like I care about any pathetic Nordic ban," Crixus retorted. "I'm a law-abiding son of the Empire, I'll go where I please."

"Get out, now!" Eirik shouted. "You didn't come here to talk, you came here to mock me again! Is that it? Taunt me into a rage and then have an excuse to kill me on-board your ship of arse-kissing loyalists? I knew this was a trap, I _knew_ it!"

"Are you fucking stupid?" Crixus shouted. "Shaddar's no loyalist, neither is his crew nor anyone else in Hammerfell. That's the problem with you ignorant Nords! The Dominion will have all our asses, yours too, because you people can't just bend your knees to just Imperial law like you should! Can't you see that? Don't you know anything about the Great War?"

"I know about the war," Eirik replied. "And while I know that your Titus Mede beat the Elves, he capitulated to them, agreeing to everything they demanded prior to starting the war. Your beloved Medes failed the Empire! Everyone who gave their lives to defend your precious Empire in the war died for nothing! The Dominion got what they wanted, didn't they?"

At this, Crixus suddenly punched Eirik in the face. The blow was strong, but Eirik did not crumble to the ground. Instead he staggered against the wall and clung to it to keep from falling. He slowly rose to his feet, keeping his eyes on Crixus for another blow.

"Don't you _dare_ insult the Legion!" Crixus retorted. "Or the Medan dynasty! They did more for Tamriel than your precious Tiber Septim _ever_ did!"

"They sold us out to the Dominion," Eirik said, rubbing blood off of his lip where he had bit down when the blow struck him. "They gave them everything they wanted: the loss of an Aldmeri host or a few legions was meaningless. The Dominion won in the end, and all you're doing is fighting _for_ the Dominion, not for the Empire."

"The Empire didn't abandon its people!" Crixus said angrily, though Eirik could see there was disbelief in his eyes. "...they never have."

"Or have they?" Eirik asked. "You know something, don't you? Something you're not telling me."

"Look, what I know that I don't tell you..." Crixus began, but Eirik cut him off.

"So tell me already!" Eirik retorted. "Unless you actually believe all your talk of elven privilege and their entitlement to Tamriel because they once ruled it, you know as well as I do that they're a threat to us all. The war did nothing but give the Dominion what they wanted at the cost of lives, Nord, Imperial and Breton. You say that Hammerfell isn't loyal anymore? Well, why not if the Empire allowed the White-Gold Concordant to permit the annex of Redguard lands? The Dominion knew what they were doing when they made that part of the pact and now the Empire is suffering for it."

"Your point being?"

"Instead of fighting," Eirik said. "The Empire and Skyrim should be working together against the Dominion. We're not the enemy, the Dominion is."

"Peace?" Crixus scoffed. "The only peace the Empire will be satisfied with is one that sees Ulfric Stormcloak dead and Talos worship rightfully banned."

"Once again, more lives lost for _your_ blood-lust!"

"_My_ blood-lust?" Crixus retorted. "How _dare_ you say I'm on the same level as you drunken Nordic scum! I am a servant of the Empire and the Empire wants order! It is _you_ ignorant Nords with your history of lies and betrayal who only want blood-shed and carnage!"

"What next, we should be welcoming the Dominion into Tamriel as friends?" Eirik asked.

"There's no point talking to you," Crixus said, throwing his hands up in dismay as he turned and walked away. But Eirik was not done with him as he stepped out of the room and called after him.

"Just who's side are you on, anyway?"

Crixus halted in the hallway, then slowly turned around, a look of anger in his eyes at the question.

"What did you say?"

"Who's side are you on?" Eirik repeated. "If you want to be for the Empire, then help strengthen the Empire."

"I _am_ for the Empire!" Crixus retorted. "It's _you_ who's not!"

"I'm for my people!" Eirik stated. "You? You fight to defend a law, an ordinance on paper written by elvish hands. Your Empire is dead, a shell of what it once was, and all you're doing is helping the ones you claim to hate. So answer _my_ question now: who's side are you on?"

Crixus did not answer, but gave Eirik a look of profound disgust as he slowly walked away. He did not turn his back to the Nord until he had rounded the corner of the hallway, after which Eirik had already returned to the cargo hold to attend to his stinging lip. Moments later Lydia came running down the hall.

"My thane, is everything alright?" she asked. "I thought I heard you yelling. Are you bleeding?"

"I'm fine," Eirik sighed. "It's just Crixus being his usual charming self."

"I think I'm getting sick of his usual charming self," Lydia said, sitting down next to Eirik. "I really want to just get to Solstheim and be rid of him, if only for a while to walk around the island for a while. Tell me, what's it like?"

"What what's like?" Eirik asked.

"Solstheim," she returned. "You've been there before, I haven't."

"There's not much to tell, though," Eirik replied. "Half of the island is covered in ash: two hundred years worth of ash. There aren't many settlements on the island that I know of, just Raven Rock and the village of the Skaal. Doubtless we'll land in Raven Rock first: it's a...well, they're houses, I suppose, but they're all made of some black material like stone and underground, or under-ash."

"I see," Lydia returned. "And what about the Skaal?"

"They're Nords, but they worship the All-Maker," Eirik said. "A bit secretive, so I've heard, but they seemed very friendly when we arrived there. That's where we're going."

* * *

**(AN: Honestly, I have no time to write and no internet connection at home, and with no means of recording music either, I just don't feel like doing anything, since it all comes to nothing [no music to record and any chapter update is futile since no reviews].)**

**(Although, I do have something of a point with this part of the story, which is based on what we see in the _Dragonborn_ DLC. Also, an interesting fact: on my first play-through I got to see this part of the story which I will detail, but on my second play-through, while cleansing the last of the Earth Stones, Fanari Strong-Voice, the chieftain of the Skaal, accidentally died while fighting the lurker. Of course, with the death of Storn, that means Frea is the only one leading the Skaal and, by all accounts, life isn't looking up for them.)  
**

**(Okay, can someone please review and answer this question for me: what the fuck is C0DA? [ALERT! SPOILERS FOLLOW!] It's like some comic by Michael Kirkbride but it makes no sense! Dunmer living on one of the moons, numidium destroying Nirn, television set heads, Akatosh as an inept worm with tiny wings, Talos the liar canon? I mean come on, I'm sick of Dunmer superiority! So they get to flee the earth and watch while everyone dies from the Numidium? Everything you know is wrong and the Dunmer are gods even though they're racist dicks [even while living in Tomorrowind on the moon, they still keep Khajiit as slaves]? You know what, call me racist if you want, but I don't feel Ulfric Stormcloak has given the Dunmer what they deserve, especially if _this_ is now going to be canon. I beg the Aedra, the Daedra, the Aesir, the Et'Ada, Sithis, Shor, the All-Maker, the Valar and God Himself that this is NOT, nor will ever be, canon!)  
**


	11. Fate of the Skaal

**(AN: Okay, I'm done ranting about Kirkbride for now. There's something else that I feel should be addressed and it is part of _Dragonborn_. I understand that it was rushed [there are sound-files which show that Miraak wasn't supposed to die after the encounter at Apocrypha], but there is something very significant to the development of the Civil War story-line which has absolutely no explication in the game. I hinted at it near the end of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, but now I'm going to depict my version of what it means.)**

**(And please, for the love of Talos, don't start with "Kirkbride wrote everything in _Skyrim_". That is just stupid, like saying that Dave Mustaine wrote _Metallica_'s first three albums [leaving it that they couldn't write a decent album without him, even though he could make crap like _Super Collider_ without them] or that Irvin Kirshner saved _Star Wars_ with_ Empire Strikes Back_.)**

* * *

**Fate of the Skaal**

The next day was dark, damp and overcast. There was rain but never strong enough winds to endanger the ship, though all the crew were on alert. Eirik and Lydia remained in their room, unwilling to be around Crixus anymore than they had to, receiving informative visits from Rayya or Torgrim. Usually Rayya's visits were more cordial, since, though she was not a Nord, she was nevertheless amicable to them and didn't speak with as many diminutives as Torgrim. They also managed to learn a bit more about the journey and things happening outside of Skyrim from her.

"Aside from the rain," she told them. "We will be in Raven Rock by this afternoon. I hear that the Redoran House of Morrowind have taken a stronger hold on Solstheim, though. It might spell trouble for us."

She also told them about new happenings in Hammerfell. The Alik'r Coterie, an off-shoot of the Crowns faction, were in deep with the Dominion and held great influence over many significant members of the Crowns and the Forebears. Like the Placators of Cyrodiil, the Alik'r promoted that the Crowns and the Forebears had acted too rashly in their war with the Dominion and, having driven them from their country, should now hold the hand of friendship to them.

"Who are the Placators?" Lydia asked.

"Clearly you've never been to Cyrodiil," Rayya chuckled. "It's no wonder with all the borders closed with the war. But I've been to Anvil several times on leave and one can hear much from the gossip in the Count's Arms inn. Apparently, there's quite a bit of political unrest in Cyrodiil at this time: the Nobles, the Placators, the Renrijra Krin, the Merchant's Guild, the Shield of Hlaalu, the King's Men and the Sons of Skyrim have more or less split what's left of the Empire between them."

"Who are these?" Eirik asked.

"The Nobles," Rayya began. "Are the loose collection of the eight lords of the counties of Cyrodiil. Each of them wants to take advantage of the situation, but none of them can agree on more than that, which makes them the weakest faction. The Placators are the puppets of the Dominion and openly brag about their affiliation with the Thalmor and wish to have the Empire embrace the Dominion with kindness and with love. The Renrijra Krin are a cult of Khajiit assassins and thieves also in league with the Thalmor who have a rather sizable presence in Leyawiin: they have no love for the Caro family and vie with them for control of Leyawiin.

"The Merchant's Guild are a conglomerate of wealthy merchants with ties to the East and West Empire Trading companies. They've grown fabulously wealthy and have significant holdings in Anvil, Bravil and Leyawiin as well. They view a unified empire as a great boon, mostly for their own pockets, and are willing to make minor investments to see the Empire returned to the glory of the Septims. They have close connections to the Shield of Hlaalu, the remnants of the Dunmer House who fled to Cyrodiil after Redoran exterminated them from Morrowind. They own most of Cheydinal and wish to see relations between the Empire and the Houses of Morrowind restored, though their means are less than honorable. The King's Men are a fanatical group of merchants' and nobleman's sons with dreams of greatness: they would see the knightly orders of Septim's empire restored, such as the Knights of the Nine, the Knights of the Thorn, the Order of the Virtuous Blood and the Order of the Dragon.

"Lastly, the Sons of Skyrim have even less power than the Nobles. From what I heard, they were doing in Bruma what Ulfric is doing in Skyrim long before the death of King Torygg. When the civil war began, most of them packed up and went to Skyrim to join the Stormcloak rebellion. Those who remain have little real power in Bruma other than causing a few hours of unrest every day or so."

Aside from news from Cyrodiil, she told them of several other things she had heard about movements in the other parts of Tamriel, little of which seemed to be of interest to them at the moment. Torgrim talked mostly about Skyrim and the Empire and how Ulfric would soon be brought to justice.

* * *

In the evening, the swaying and tossing of the ship came to a rest and the sounds above told Eirik and Lydia that they had come ashore. As they made their way to the top deck, they saw the ship at the wharf of Raven Rock, anchored and with many of the sailors standing by the starboard side of the ship, eager to be a-shore, with a committee of Redoran guards clad in bone-mold armor blocking their path. Eirik saw Shaddar and Crixus near the front, arguing with a Dunmer official standing in front of the guards.

"This is an outrage!" Shaddar exclaimed. "I have never been blocked from making berth at Raven Rock!"

"That was before," the Dunmer replied. "Things are different in Raven Rock now. You will need to apply for a writ of portage at the Office of Foreign Affairs in Blacklight."

"But we have business in Solstheim!" Shaddar retorted.

"You have no business here," said the Dunmer. "At least not without a writ of portage signifying that the heads of House Redoran see you as safe and equitable trading partners."

"This is ridiculous," Crixus sneered. "I've been to this port before, Adril. I have permission to make port here."

"Such arrogance," Adril replied. "House Redoran does not recognize the Empire of Cyrodiil here."

"What's going on?" Eirik asked.

"These bastards are preventing us from making port here," Crixus answered.

"Denying port?" laughed Adril. "Since I see you have one of _them_ with you, I must insist that you leave Raven Rock immediately."

"What do you mean, one of 'them'?" Eirik asked.

"Nords aren't welcomed in Solstheim anymore," Adril retorted. "House Redoran will not tolerate your kind coming here, destroying our island. What, have you become wearied of persecuting our kind in your precious Skyrim?"

"But I am not a Nord," Crixus stated. "Neither is the captain of this ship, nor are half of the crew."

"You're an Imperial," Adril said. "Your Empire's days of tyranny over the Houses of Morrowind are at an end. Now return to your ship or I will have the guards throw you all into the Bulwark and have your ship sunken for good measure!"

"We don't need to listen to this," Eirik said. He then turned to Crixus. "We'll Shout these arrogant elves down before us! They don't stand a chance!"

"Just like you Nords, kill every elf in sight," Crixus retorted.

"That would do no good, friends," Shaddar interjected, a third option formulating in his head as he turned towards Adril Arano with a smile on his face. "Such a shame that peaceful trade agreements cannot be swiftly made between our two independent peoples - the House Redoran and my company."

"A shame for you, no doubt, since your pockets won't be lined with _our_ gold," said Adril. "Now clear off."

Grudgingly, Shaddar barked out orders to his crew, having them lower the sails and prepare to sail westward. Eirik followed Crixus, who was making his way up to the helm's deck where Shaddar and his helmsman stood.

"We could have taken them on," Eirik said. "Just a few Shouts and those Redoran guards would have been tossed aside like chaff in the wind!"

"I've said it before and I will say it again," Crixus retorted. "I won't use your 'ancient Nord art' of the Voice to cheapen a fair fight with an enemy. I'm not Talos, whatever you or your false gods might say!"

"So we've come all this way for nothing?" Eirik asked. "Your attempt at a trap is as futile as the Great War."

"One more word about the Great War," Crixus retorted angrily. "And I'll throw you into the sea with my bare hands!"

Eirik chuckled. "A thin-bodied, washed-up old Colovian scoundrel against a Nord warrior in the prime of his life? Not without Gorak or Torgrim as your double, you mean."

"I don't need Torgrim or Gorak to take you down!" Crixus retorted.

"Gentlemen!" Shaddar spoke suddenly. "There will be no brawling at the helm while I am present."

"But he started it!" Crixus retorted.

"I have asked for silence!" Shaddar said sternly. "And silence is what we will have if we wish to land on Solstheim."

Eirik and Crixus approached Shaddar as the ship was pulling away out of the Raven Rock wharf.

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

The old Redguard cast his eyes here and there and then turned his back to the helm, bending down as much as his old bones could allow him - he was easily a score of years older than Crixus - and brought out from his robes a map which he unfurled upon the deck before them. Both Eirik and Crixus examined what was laid before them: a map of Solstheim.

"Raven Rock," Shaddar began, speaking in a hushed voice. "Is located in this cove area on the south-western coast of Solstheim. According to local legends, the Skaal have always lived on the north-eastern corner of the island, even as far back as the time of the Nerevarine."

"So?" Eirik asked.

"If we will be denied permission to land in Raven Rock," Shaddar said. "We will simply sail around the southern coast of Solstheim and arrive here on the eastern coast, where we will go ashore as planned."

"But the elves have owned Solstheim since the High King of Skyrim gave it to them hundreds of years ago," Eirik said. "Surely they know all of the lands of their island and will be watching us."

"Aha," Shaddar said wisely. "But going south, we will be hidden under the clouds of ash being constantly blown northward from Vvardenfell. Their eyes will not see us on our way around to the eastern side of the continent."

"I still think it's too risky," Eirik said.

"Well, what would you have preferred?" Crixus asked. "Shouting those damn dirty Dunmer out of your path with your Voice and go walking up to the Skaal village, only to be arrested on your return?"

"Look who hates the Dunmer now," Eirik chuckled.

"I've spent too much time in Morrowind to feel otherwise," Crixus said. "But it's not right what your Ulfric does to them in Windhelm." Eirik sighed in disgust. "You Nords made a pact to let the Dunmer live independently in your land, you can't go back on your word!"

"Are you incapable of telling the truth?" Eirik asked.

"Oh, go f..."

"I said no fighting!" Shaddar said sharply. "Now, if this is going to work, I will have to ask you lot to go below deck. It will be getting very hot and sooty once we pass under the ash-clouds and it will be best for you all to remain below deck. And quietly as well!"

Eirik went back below, but Crixus remained. Once again Eirik felt confident that he had come out on top of the argument. There was no excuse, no defense, for what Crixus had said and his only recourse was to rail and insult as usual. But Eirik found that, for some reason, his temper was not flaring up around Crixus in their debates. Perhaps he had learned to control himself, or perhaps he had learned what made Crixus angry in their talks? With this in mind, he passed down the stairs into the lower deck, only to find Torgrim blocking the way in front of him.

"I see that the legends about you are far from true," he said. "You wear that fancy armor, yet you fight with words like a woman."

"Bark on, dog," Eirik replied. "I have no interest in you. Now stand aside."

"Not until I've taught you a lesson, pup," Torgrim said. "I shan't be called a dog, not by some milk-drinking rebel!"

"I really don't have time for this," Eirik said.

"Coward!" Torgrim roared.

"_Gaan...Lah Haas!_" Eirik shouted.

The large, strong Torgrim crumbled to the floor deck as the Thu'um left him physically drained and exhausted, as if he had spent a full day's work on an empty stomach. Doubtless Crixus would talk about how much of a coward this made Eirik and how alike he was to Ulfric and his "murder" of King Torygg, but Crixus was not here and Eirik was tired of dealing Crixus and his Imperial-loving toadies. He was not half-way down the hall when Lydia, who had departed back to the cargo hold shortly after she learned that they wouldn't be going ashore, poked her head out from the cargo hold door.

"Is everything alright, my thane?" she asked. "I heard you Shouting."

"Everything's fine, for now," Eirik said. "We just won't be going ashore any time soon."

* * *

All throughout the night, the Red Dog sailed around the southern coast of Solstheim. On the main deck, Shaddar commanded the ship with a minimal crew, their faces covered to keep out the ash, while the rest went down below. Eirik and Lydia remained in their hold, bundled in their warm, woolen cloaks and talking idly about this and that. Torgrim had not appeared after Eirik incapacitated him. They could not sleep all through the night, even though they were both weary. The hours passed by and they seemed to have run out of things to talk about: at this, they laid down in their cloaks side by side, as they had done since the first time they had begun journeying together. There they lay for a while, wrapped in their cloaks and the warmth of each other's bodies, heeding only the swaying of ocean waves upon the hull and the creaking of the wooden planks of the ship. Eirik's mind wandered back to Mjoll and he wondered where she was, sleeping alone perhaps on her quest in the inn of Dawnstar with those nightmares about or in some cold fort or cave somewhere else.

"My thane," Lydia suddenly spoke. "May I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," Eirik replied.

"Do you think the war will ever end?" she asked. "I mean, I know that a Nord should always strive for a noble death, a sure path to Sovngarde. But I mean this civil war: do you think it will ever end?"

"I've been wondering about that," Eirik said. "There's so much bad blood between the people of Skyrim all because of this war that the Thalmor started and the Empire have been upholding."

"The Thalmor?" Lydia asked. "How do you figure they started it?"

"They enforced the White-Gold Concordant from the beginning," Eirik began. "They outlawed the worship of Talos, they started the Great War which gave those damn Reachmen the opportunity to take Markarth, which led to the Markarth Incident." He sighed.

"What's wrong, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"Nothing, it's just..." Eirik mused. "I just saw before me stretched out the last thirty or so years of this whole damn conflict with the Dominion, like a big tapestry with each event - the execution of the Blades, the White-Gold Concordant, the secession of Hammerfell, even the Civil War - as a thread that was sewn and spun together. And when I looked at them all together, what I saw..."

"What did you see?" Lydia asked.

"Exactly what I've known since I left Bruma," Eirik said. "And what Crixus knows despite himself. The Empire may have won the Battle of the Red Ring, but they lost the war with the Dominion. When the Dominion gave their demands to the Emperor, they asked for half of Hammerfell, the banning of Talos worship and the disbanding of the Blades. What they gained at the end of the war was exactly that. The Dominion and their Thalmor leaders sacrificed a legion or more of their own people to gain through treaty what they couldn't gain in battle.

"But the big picture, the grand design of the Dominion which I saw in these events, was the same thing I had seen in Elenwen's office in just six simple words: the First War with the Empire. The Dominion had no intention of a victory by conquest with this war, only to cripple the Empire beyond repair, and this they achieved. This will leave the Empire open and vulnerable to their _Second_ War with the Empire."

"Are you having doubts about who you chose to fight for, my thane?" Lydia asked. "Do you wish to defect to the Empire?"

"No," Eirik replied. "I believe that Ulfric has the right of it: the Empire did nothing but bow to the Thalmor and now expects all of us to do likewise. But there should be a third option, one that sees the Empire returned to a place of strength without sacrificing the dignity and heritage of the people of Skyrim."

"If there's anyone who can make that a reality, my thane," Lydia stated. "I think that it would be..."

Just then a knock sounded at the door. Lydia rose up and pulled open the door, where Gorak stood, dressed in his Legion armor with a large cloak that was made out of a single bear pelt.

"Captain wants you top side," he said in his deep, grumbling voice. He then turned around and walked away.

Eirik and Lydia girded themselves in their armor, wrapped their cloaks around themselves and made their way out of the hull. When they arrived, they were greeted by a clear, unclouded sunrise from across the sea to the east. The sky and the sea were all alight with fire from the glow of the rising sun, and to the west, the isle and the peaks of Solstheim appeared to be all aflame as well. Near at hand, Eirik saw Shaddar ordering several smaller boats prepared to disembark to the shore.

"There you are," the old Redguard said, turning towards Eirik and Lydia. "We've dropped anchor off the eastern coast of Solstheim. You and your servant may go ashore with Crixus if that is still your plan."

"My plan?" Eirik asked.

"He means _my_ plan," Crixus spoke up. Turning around, Eirik saw the Colovian standing behind Lydia, clad once more all in black.

"Ah yes, your trap," Eirik said.

"I'm not planning any damn trap!" Crixus shouted. "Just get in the boat. Don't you want to find out what that Skaal shamaness wants of you?"

Eirik grumbled, but then made his way to one of the three boats going onto shore. Lydia followed after him while Crixus joined them as well, throwing his bow into the boat before he climbed in first.

"Who else is going with us?" Eirik asked.

"Rayya, Torgrim, Gorak and Eld," Crixus replied.

From behind there was heard several gasps and Eirik and Lydia turned around to see what might be the matter. From out of the hold of the ship there came a tall woman with pale-grey skin. As she rose, it was then that Eirik realized that she must be the giantess Eld. She was easily twelve feet tall, with elvish ears and ritualistic scars covering her body. In one hand was a staff roughly fifteen feet tall with a six foot blade on each end. As the giant rose to her full height, Eirik saw Torgrim walking out behind her, a look of loathing upon his face as he glared at Eirik.

* * *

It did not take the three boats long to cross the span between the Red Dog and the coast of Solstheim. Once they reached the coast, Eld climbed out of the boat, the icy cold waves of the shore barely coming up to her knees, and dragged the boats one by one onto shore. After they cleared the coast, the small party made their way up the snow-clad hills, following what appeared to be a line of smoke higher up through a grove of pines.

"That could be them," Crixus said, pointing to the smoke.

"I've never been to Solstheim before," Torgrim said to Crixus. "Where is this exactly that we're going?"

"The village of the Skaal," Eirik replied.

"I wasn't asking you, milk-drinker," Torgrim stated, then turned back to Crixus.

"A village of wild Nords," Crixus said. "They live outside of the law of House Redoran, so they won't object to us being there. Of course, they're not part of the Empire either, at least not yet."

"More outlaws and rebels," Torgrim said. "Just the place this one would fit in nicely with, eh?" He thumbed back to Crixus, and they both laughed.

"No, they're just idiots," Crixus said after a good laugh. "Just like the Thirsk."

"I've heard of the Thirsk," Rayya spoke up. "They were Nords who established themselves independent from the Skaal, I believe."

"Yes, that's true," Crixus replied. "I've seen them before, when I was on Solstheim. They're idiots and milk-drinkers. They lost their hall to a bunch of little rieklings."

"What are rieklings?" both Eirik and Torgrim asked as one.

"Tiny bastards," Crixus said. "About two feet high, ride on the feral ice bulls native to this island. They have a strange obsession with hoarding things. Any way, they took the hall of the Thirsk and they've been too cowardly to get it back."

"When have you seen them?" Eirik asked. "I don't remember seeing them when we were on Solstheim before, and we've been this way as well."

"I did some work for that wizard Neloth in a Dwemer ruin just south of here," Crixus said. "That was how we were able to defeat Miraak, thanks to what I did there. That was when I saw those Thirsk cowards."

"When?" Eirik asked.

"Do I have to tell you everything I do?" Crixus asked. "There are some things I just do on my own, completely independent of your life."

There was silence as they crunched on through the snow. Meanwhile, Lydia walked over to where Eirik and Rayya walked.

"So, this is Solstheim, then?" Lydia asked. "Not much to look at. Kind of like the Pale, I'd say. Hard, cold and unforgiving."

They walked on in dead silence, meeting nothing more dangerous than a fox. It helped having a giant lumbering behind them who could crack skulls with her bare hands. For a while they continued, the air growing colder and the wind blowing harsher upon their backs. After many hours passed, the tops of wooden huts and houses could be seen poking their heads above the snow that covered them. By and by, several figures clad in thick, heavy furs approached them, with spears, swords, bows and axes in hand. They began to form a circle around the adventurers and they did not look friendly.

"Don't harm them," Eirik said. "They're who we're after. They're the Skaal." Eirik walked up to them with hands held up. "I am a friend of the Skaal. We come in peace."

Last to arrive in the group of Skaal was Frea Stornsdottir, elder shaman of the Skaal. She noticed Eirik and Crixus and told the others to stand down as she approached. Eirik saw that she was still clad in the carved Nordic armor that Mjoll wore, seemingly unchanged from how he had seen her so many months ago when they left Solstheim after defeating Miraak. Only now she seemed to be much more careworn and stressed. Her eyes showed signs of having not slept in many long nights.

"Hail, Skaal-friend," Frea greeted. "It has been a long time since you freed my people from the tyranny of Miraak. We welcome you back to our village."

"Some welcome," Crixus said cynically as he gazed at all the armed Skaal around them.

"Your pardon, Skaal-friend," Frea said to Crixus. "But these are desperate times for my people. We have been wary ever since..." She looked about, then quieted down. "We shall speak more of this later. For now, you are welcome to come into our village. We will share what food we have with you, but I fear that it will not be as much as it was before."

Frea led them to the large Skaal hut where they were welcomed in to a hearth-warmed shelter from the cold while the other Skaal went about their business. Eirik was bemused for several reasons: firstly, he was bemused because of the less-than-friendly reception of the Skaal. Secondly, he was bemused because Frea had called Crixus 'Skaal-friend' as well. And lastly, he was bemused because none of the Skaal seemed at all perturbed about Eld. Inside the hut, he sat down with Lydia and Crixus next to Frea as Gorak, Rayya, Torgrim and Eld sat across from them on the other side of the hut. She served them meat and some goat's milk. The meat was meager and stringy and the milk was cold, but Eirik and Lydia enjoyed the shift from Colovian hard-tacks.

"Now that we are all seated," Frea said. "I can tell you why I have called you to this place."

"You couldn't before because of the others, I take it," Crixus said with a sly smile on his face. "A real statement of your honor and integrity, you know, lying to your people and keeping secrets from them."

"This coming from the king of secrets," Eirik retorted.

"You and your housecarl," Crixus pointed to Eirik. "Should really watch your tongues around me. I have Eld and Gorak and Torgrim. One more outburst out of you and I'll have Eld break your housecarl while I kill you myself." He gave a broad smile and then turned to Frea. "Please, go on."

"I see that we are not the only ones to have fallen on hard times," Frea said, looking at both Eirik and Crixus.

"Me? Hard times?" Crixus asked, then chuckled. "No, I'm doing rather well for myself. I just won't have this sheep's cunt insulting me just to appease his own fragile ego."

"Why did I ever believe that you had turned over a new leaf?" Eirik asked. "You're even worse than you were before."

"I can be worse if you want me to be, you ignorant little shit!" Crixus roared.

"People, please!" Frea interjected. "If you cannot leave squabbles aside, I will ask you both to leave this village."

"I can leave my qualms aside," Crixus said, then looked away and swiftly added: "This goat-fucker can't, though."

Eirik said nothing, but his hands clenched into a fist as Crixus sipped from his cup of goat's milk, then spat it back into the cup, muttering something about horker piss.

"I am sorry it does not sit with your tastes, Skaal-friend," Frea replied. "It is all we have."

"All you have?" Eirik asked.

"The All-Maker has tested us hard this winter," Frea began. "The snows have all but buried the northern half of the island, making these past few weeks hard for my people. Our food supplies are very low and there is no game to hunt, either in the north or in the ash-lands in the south. Nor can we rely on trade with Raven Rock as we have in past times, because lately they have stopped trading with us."

"Have you maybe asked them _why_?" Crixus asked.

"We cannot afford to send people south," Frea said. "All our strength is being directed at hunting for food."

"I thought you said there wasn't any game up here," Crixus prodded.

"There is not," Frea replied grimly. "But we have no choice. We must eat or we will surely starve to death." She sighed.

"Don't you have anyone to spare?" Eirik asked.

"No," Frea shook her head. "Many have been lost in the snows or wounded on the hunt, and these we...we tend to as best we can. There are already too few to send out into the fields to hunt."

"Then it seems," Crixus spoke up. "That now would be a good time for you to accept the help of the Empire. Where is your chieftain? I should be speaking to her instead."

Frea did not answer, but turned around to one lying behind her against the wall. Eirik had noticed this person while they had entered and thought nothing of it until Frea lifted the fur blanket from off the face. Lying underneath was a dark-haired Nord woman with a large vertical gash down her face from forehead to the bottom of her lower lip.

"Chieftain Fanari Strong-Arm," Frea said. "Was wounded hunting a horker. The wound was grievous and I have been using all of my skill to heal her." She covered the face of her chieftain with the fur blanket again and turned back to her guests, her face downcast.

"First my father Storn," Frea continued. "And now our chieftain. I have been given the full weight of being the ruler and protector of my people. Food is scarce, both from the lack of hunters and game and from thieves from the ash-lander bandits. But there is another threat coming, one which has threatened my people in times past, but has always been weathered. Now, I fear, we may not weather it in this age."

"If it's the will of your All-Maker," Crixus scoffed. "What's the problem?"

"We have not behaved wantonly against the All-Maker," Frea said, shaking her head in disbelief. "In every matter we have done as we have always done for generations. We are being tested, but we do not have to fail that test, not if there are Skaal-friends who can help us."

"So you plan on cheating your god?" Crixus chuckled. "Yeah, you didn't see what Miraak got for doing that little trick."

"Please, pay him no heed," Eirik spoke up. "Tell me, though: what is this other threat you've spoken of?"

Frea sighed. "The signs have been seen, at least one of them. My Storn told me of the legends his grandfather as a child, when the man-beasts came to our island and hunted freely: a pity that it has happened in my life-time."

"What?" Eirik asked. "What is it?"

Frea answered with only one word. "Bloodmoon."

Crixus smile faded, but the others looked on in surprise and confusion. At length Lydia spoke up.

"Uh, excuse me?" she asked. "What is Bloodmoon? I've never heard of it."

"Who is this one?" Frea asked Eirik.

"She is my servant Lydia," Eirik replied. "She is a skilled warrior and a brave woman."

"It is good to see the Dragonborn," Frea said. "Carry with such notable company. As for the Bloodmoon, it is something of a legend among my people. Once in an age, the demon Hircine will come into the world and lead the man-beasts on a great hunt across the island. None now living remember the hunt, for the last one took place in the time of the Bloodskal, whom the elves in the ash-lands call 'Nerevarine.'"

"Then how do you know that it could be happening again?" Crixus asked.

"My father told me of the signs that would precede the Bloodmoon," Frea replied. "First is the coming of the Hounds, which I know is near. The very land cries out with the blood of those slain by the first arrivals. The next sign is the Fire from the Eye of Glass, a plume of flame upon the surface of Lake Fjalding to the south of this village. The third sign is the Tide of Woe, when the bodies of many horkers wash up dead on the northern shores of the island. I fear this might have already come to pass with the sudden shortage of their game. The final sign is when the smaller moon turns red like blood, then the beasts roam free across the island."

Silence fell upon them all as they listened eagerly to what Frea was saying. Eirik saw that it was Crixus who seemed the most concerned of the bunch. Torgrim, Gorak and Eld ate quietly while Rayya and Lydia listened intently. There was a reason this Redguard huscarl was called bright; for she kept her ears and eyes opened and, aside from a quick wit, knew much.

"So what happens now?" Eirik asked. "How do we fit into this?"

"My people will defend themselves against this," Frea said. "As we have always done. But we are in such a sorry situation that we cannot hope to defend and hunt food for ourselves." She turned to Crixus. "I am not cheating the All-Maker, I am helping my people rise to this challenge. I do not ask you..." She turned over to Eirik. "...either of you to do more or less than what you wish to do. If you are willing..."

"I am willing," Eirik spoke up.

"And I," Lydia added.

"Fool!" Crixus snarled. "Never agree to something before knowing what you're agreeing to!"

"I do not ask you to do anything greater than what you did before," Frea spoke up. "All I ask is that you search the island for my people who are lost. See if they live still and bring them back to the village."

"Easy enough, even considering our outlawed position," Crixus stated.

"Do you agree?" Frea asked.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Crixus said swiftly, feigning disinterest. "Now, what's the pay?"

"Pay?" Frea asked.

"Well, yes," Crixus replied. "I don't work for free, and whatever you're paying us for this, I want double of what he gets." He pointed to Eirik.

"We have no money," Frea stated. "Our trading with the elves in the ash-land have always been for food, hunting tools and cloth. We never charged them money for our goods."

"Another reason you're in the shitter," Crixus said under his breath. "Well, if there's no pay, I won't be attached to it."

"He will help you," Torgrim spoke up suddenly. "We all will, and there will be no pay."

"Torgrim, don't!" Crixus interjected.

"This people need help," Torgrim said, turning to Frea. "And help you we will."

Eirik looked at the tall Nord with a new light. Aside from his crass behavior and his love for the Empire, Eirik knew very little else about this pale mountain of a man. Yet when he heard him offer his services and those of Crixus, he saw a different look in his eyes. It was a look he had seen in Mjoll's eyes when she spoke of the people of Riften. Whatever he might have been, his care for the Skaal seemed to be genuine.

Meanwhile, he mentally began to prepare himself for what would come next. The day was clear and it was still morning: plenty of time to go hunting for the lost Skaal across the snowy mountains of the uplands of Solstheim.

* * *

**(AN: I try to make quick updates for this story, but chapters don't seem to be coming out any sooner or shorter than three thousand words. I hope things don't take a turn for the worse. My brother just did a really big dick move where he threatened to A] take away my use of his laptop privilege [the only way i can work on any story when I'm not at the college since I don't have a working computer - burnt-out hard-drives NOT viruses] and B] threatened to not help me get to work [I'm almost twenty-four and don't have a car - the shame, I know - because my car was sold when we moved and with college books peaking three hundred bucks apiece, I really don't have money to spare for getting a car]. And why would he do such a dickish action, you may ask? Why, because he is of the belief that the Red Mountain's eruption caused the collapse of the city of Winterhold...about a hundred and twenty years after the fact. And he wants to bring in plate tectonics and erosion into why it took a hundred years to collapse, but then all those forces of nature can be negated by "magical barriers" when it comes to why the College survived. I, on the other hand, think that it might have been a failed experiment or something from the College mages: they couldn't stop it and they felt that their knowledge and lore and secrets were more worthy of saving than half the people of Winterhold and raised said barriers around the city and let the rest fall into the sea. And because he was SO convinced in his right-ness, he was ready to revoke any opportunity of writing or getting to work just because I disagree with him [and what's worse, he's never this way about the Empire or Ulfric or those god-killing Dunmer, only about the College of Winterhold])**

**(Lots of interesting stuff in this chapter, like Gorak's ward Eld the Giant [title from a real _jotnar_ from the Norse tradition as well as the third album of Norwegian band _Enslaved_. I also decided to pull the Bloodmoon into the story, or at least part of, as well as go on into the next part of the story. Like in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I'm going to say that Frea gets unfairly overlooked by the _Elder Scrolls_ fandom in exchange for Aela the scantily-clad Huntress [even Mjoll, who is the butt-end of jokes about Grimsever, thieves and her friendship with Aerin, receives more attention than Frea]. Of course she will return in my stories, this one included. [seriously, she doesn't even get a category in the Character selection on here for _Elder Scrolls_ stories, whereas Isaac ben-Abraham of the Bible, NOT Issac - seriously did the moderators of this site not even spell-check their names? You can even go to the Bible, both Old and New Testaments, and look up the name and it is ALWAYS spelled I-S-A-A-C! - gets a whole category to his own, even though, of the three pre-Mosaic patriarchs, Isaac had the least to do as far as spiritual and political and social action.])  
**


	12. Call of the Hounds

**(AN: One of the good things about missing out on indoctrination class [-cough- I mean biological anthropology] due to the rain today is that I get to stay in and write! Yay!)**

**(I know it happened longer ago, but I just have to get this off my chest because the Canadian band Valfreya [which I follow on the book of Faces] brought it up. Once my brother found this gif on Tumblr which had on the top the Stormcloak emblem and on the bottom a picture of that bastard shit-faced dick-sucking back-stabbing Jew-hating Aryan cunt varg vikernes flipping his hair all happy-go-luckily as he's being taken to prison after his big "i don't give a fuck about the law" smiling for the cameras in the Norwegian court. Of course my brother, and all of you Imperial-supporters [i know you're out there] probably think this is cute because cunt grishnakh is racist and Ulfric is "racist" too, ho ho ho, aren't I cute because I support religious intolerance? Of course, me saying my mind, like I did on _Joshua King of Heaven,_ will probably spawn a thousand reviewers who are just burzum fans who want to show me how hard they suck his white dick [what's odd is that at least half of these people probably consider themselves tolerant, liberal social justice types...yet they support this neo-Nazi fucker. Go figure]. To that I tell you to kindly fornicate someplace else where I am not!)  
**

**(By the way, Dunmer are racist, so to call out the Nords for their treatment of the Dunmer is akin to a pot calling a kettle black. Also, don't you believe it when the Dunmer say that they refuse to help the Stormcloaks because "this is not our war". They're hiding Imperial weapons in the New Gnisis Corner-club! And I am a _much_ better musician than cunt grishnakh because, unlike him, I can actually play guitar solos! And I can sing, really sing, with notes and keys and ranges and stuff, not just scream like an idiot.)  
**

**(Okay, I'm done ranting, we can do the story now. I actually planned out a little of what will happen ahead, so I'm not just making it all up as I go along this time!)**

* * *

**Call of the Hounds  
**

Instead of making ready to search the island, Crixus asked Frea if they could have a few minutes alone, to which she retired from the great hall. After she left, Crixus called the others towards the fire. Torgrim, Gorak and Rayya came forward, but Eld the Giantess made her way outside of the hall, seemingly to follow after Frea. Once the door closed a second time, Crixus began.

"Well then," he said. "Now that it's just us, what do you say?"

"I say," Torgrim stated. "That we start searching for her people now."

"No," Rayya objected.

"No?" both Eirik and Torgrim said at once.

"We're not exactly here legally, are we?" she asked. "What happens if we go out now, under broad daylight, and we're seen by somebody from Raven Rock? We might have more on our hands than we'd have bargained for if we're spotted."

"I agree," Crixus said. He then turned to Eirik. "Well?"

"Well what?" Eirik asked.

"Aren't you going to object?" Crixus asked. "Some stupid nonsense about death and glory and sovereign guard or whatever you call it?"

"It's Sovngarde," Eirik replied. "And if you must know, I agree with Rayya. We're outnumbered and going out openly would be meaningless."

"Whatever happened to running in sword a-swinging?" Crixus asked. "I thought you Nords didn't believe in strategy!"

"I'm not an idiot, you know!" Eirik retorted.

"Could have fooled me," Crixus said aside.

"Are you two going to start bickering again?" Rayya asked. "Or perhaps you can keep it together long enough to plan our next move?"

"They're not bickering," Torgrim said. "Crixus is just putting that milk drinker in his proper place."

"Warriors don't fight with words," Gorak grumbled.

"She's right," Lydia spoke up. "As long as we're here, we might as well help out. So what do we do next?"

Crixus rolled his eyes, then turned to his companions. "If we're all agreed on stealth, we shouldn't all leave the village all at once. I'll ask around, see if we can score some of their fur rags to wear while we're searching the island. Only one or two at a time, so we don't draw too much attention. Anyone who sees us from afar will think we're just some of the Skaal hunting or whatever these savages do. If we absolutely must go into the ash-land, always come to me first. And, I'm sorry to say, Gorak, Rayya, you two won't be going into the ash-fields."

"Why not?" Gorak asked.

"We stick out," Rayya replied, her face held down. "There are no Redguards on Solstheim and only one orc in a town filled with Dunmer. We'll only attract attention, even if we dress like the Skaal." She sighed. "So what will Gorak, Eld and I be doing while you, Torgrim, the Dragonborn and Lydia are off searching the island? I assume you won't be staying behind, seeing as how you are fair-skinned enough to pass for a Nord?"

"Fuck you," Crixus replied. "Don't call me a Nord or I'll cut your tongue out, sand-monkey."

"Call me _that_ again," Rayya replied. "And you'll lose more than just a tongue, elf-lover."

"I'm no elf-lover!" Crixus growled.

"Your empire is!" Rayya retorted. "Don't think that because I hold my tongue while you and the Dragonborn bandy words like angry little children, that I am your servant. Your empire betrayed my people, but _we_ were the brave the ones. We fought and drove the elves into the sea after _two_ wars, and yet your empire capitulated, you bowed down to the elves. You sold us out!"

"That will be enough, Redguard!" Torgrim spoke, rising to his feet, his voice deep, grim and threatening.

"Do you see?" Eirik said, rising to his feet in Rayya's defense. "Do you still insist on fighting a losing battle?"

"I have an orc _and_ a fucking giant on my side!" Crixus shouted, turning suddenly to Eirik. "You don't get to talk again, do you hear me?"

"Enough!" Gorak roared. His voice was so deep and booming that everyone stopped their clamoring and turned to the large orc. The door to the great hall opened and the dark-haired head of Eld poked inside, eager to see who Gorak needed crushed.

"You forget your place, _friend_," Crixus said through clenched teeth.

"If my place is here," Gorak said, then turned to Rayya. "And yours, then we will help these people." He then walked over to the doorway and spoke something to Eld in the language of the Orsimer, which neither Eirik nor Crixus knew.

"Gorak is right," Rayya said, throwing her tagelmust over her head. "I will go out there and see how I can help them." With the veil hanging off the side, she made her way to the doors and passed by Gorak and Eld. Crixus grumbled and walked off after her.

"Where are you going?" Torgrim asked.

"I want to ask them for the clothes we need," he said, not bothering to turn back as he passed through the doors. Meanwhile, with only the Nords left in the room, Torgrim cast angry eyes at Crixus.

"A mean trick you pulled on me, milk drinker," he said. "Next time, I'll stuff my fist in your mouth before you have a chance to Shout."

"He stands not alone," Lydia said, stepping up to Eirik's right hand.

At this, Torgrim laughed. "You? You're a Nord, but you look as small as an overgrown wood elf. I wager I could toss you with one hand."

"Enough," Eirik groaned. "I'm going for a walk. Lydia, follow me."

"Alright, then."

* * *

Time passed slowly as Eirik and Lydia walked about the glade of the Skaal village. They saw little of Crixus or the others and that was enough for both of them. As the day started growing old, Eirik and Lydia found themselves sitting on a rock they had cleared of the snow. It was on the edge of the glade, open to the cold air from the east. From there they could see all the way to the coast and the Red Dog, now so small that it could be hidden by a thumb's size. Behind them, they could hear the deep grumble of Torgrim's voice along with the swift, measured tone of Rayya as they conversed with the thickly-accented Skaal villagers behind them.

"This land is beautiful, my thane," Lydia said, her eyes gazing out eastward towards the endless sea. "It feels strangely like home. Did you get a look at that tall pillar of rock just north of the village? They remind me of the standing stones back home."

"Aye, I saw them," Eirik said.

"I mean, yes, it's cold here, damn cold," Lydia continued. "Gods, this cold wind would make the icy chills of the Pale feel like a summer's breeze. But it's still very beautiful. I can see why you and Mjoll went here so often."

"We only came here once or twice," Eirik said. "And yes, she did find it beautiful. That was also when we first...well, when _I_ at least knew."

"Knew what, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"That I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her," Eirik said. "That I wanted to be the sword at her side in every battle, on every journey."

"That's what I'm here for," Lydia added.

Eirik sighed. "I know. And I appreciate all that you've done, but..."

"But what?" Lydia asked.

Eirik shook his head. "I don't know."

"You know," she began. "The thought had crossed my mind more than once. I mean, you already have what most men seek in a wedding. But I'm guessing..."

"What?" Eirik asked, turning to Lydia.

For a moment their eyes met, just as it had in a glade in Hjaalmarch what felt like a lifetime ago and in another era of Mundus. Neither of them could say anything as they gazed, yet deep inside Eirik knew that what he was feeling was false. He was married to Mjoll and they were going to have a child together. _That_ was the life he had chosen and that was the life that made him happy. So why did he feel this way about his huscarl?

"Uh," Lydia stammered, then slowly gaining speed as her mind found something else. "I...'m guessing...that Crixus is taking quite a bit of time getting clothes for us. I think I should see what's up. Did you see where he went?"

"Into that little hut behind the great hall," Eirik said, pointing to the one in question at the southern end of the village.

"Thank you, my thane," Lydia said, curtly bowing as she rose up and trudged back up the hill to the village then turned towards the shaman's hut. Moments later she returned looking at the ground, her face all red even more so than from the cold wind.

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"Oh, I just, uh," she stammered. "Walked in on Crixus and that Skaal shaman Frea."

"Yes?" Eirik inquired.

"She was, uh, shining his sword, if you know what I mean," Lydia replied.

"His sword?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah, you know," Lydia said, then held up her right hand in a closed fist to her mouth. "Like that."

Eirik's eyes bulged as he realized exactly what she was saying. "But she's the spiritual leader of the Skaal, _and_ she's a Nord! How could he do something so selfish and depraved?"

"Hey, he's a man, isn't he?" Lydia asked. "And don't say you wouldn't were you in his position because we both know you have."

"If I recall, it was _your_ idea." he replied.

"It was the will of the gods, my thane, not my idea." Lydia replied. "Personally, I don't ever want to have a man's cock between my lips for as long as I live."

"Then why?" Eirik asked. "Why did you do it that one time?"

"The goddess said you needed instruction," she replied. "And that was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes who knew you. And it was only once and it will not happen again. I'll earn my honor on my feet, not on my knees or my back. The hell you should talk, though, my thane. Didn't you and that spell-sword Marcurio get drunk and go into Riften, striking the Thieves Guild and bedding a little wood elf along the way?"

"How did you know that?" Eirik asked.

"It was after the siege of Castle Volkihar," Lydia stated. "I wandered over to the other boat and listened in while Marcurio regaled Crixus and his friends with the story." She turned to Eirik, who was looking down towards the valley. "My thane, what is it?"

"I thought I saw something in the trees down there," Eirik said.

"What was it?"

"A man or a woman, I couldn't quite tell," Eirik replied. "But the hair, I distinctly remembered the hair. It was like a streaming banner soaked in fresh blood. I almost thought..."

"What?"

"I looked like..." Eirik began, but his words trailed off as he rose up and made his way down the hill. Swiftly Lydia came running up after him. It did not take them long to find, just a bow-shot down from where they were sitting, a pair of tracks in the snow. Suddenly there came a whistling noise and an arrow struck in the snow just at his feet. Lydia drew out her sword and Eirik turned around to where the arrow was shot and saw a figure standing in the snow, clad in a thick fur coat and familiar wolf armor similar in style to the Legion armor. The figure had a bow drawn and flaming red hair.

"The next one's going in your heart!" a familiar voice spoke.

"You know who I am, Aela!" Eirik said. "Why are you firing at me?"

"Harbinger?" she asked.

"Aye, it is me," Eirik replied. "What are you doing on Solstheim? I thought I gave you specific instructions to stay behind and look after the Companions in my absence."

Aela lowered the bow but did not take her hands off the arrow and bow as she crossed through the snow to where they stood. As she approached, Eirik's mind began to wander back to what Frea had told him earlier this morning and what he knew about Aela the Huntress.

"I should be asking you that same question," Aela began. "From what I've heard, House Redoran has closed Solstheim to activity from Skyrim. We had to land several miles south of Raven Rock."

"'We?'" Eirik asked.

"Farkas, Vilkas and myself," Aela said. "We all came here in one of the drekkars we brought to the Siege of Volkihar Castle. We hired a few sailors in Solitude for the rowing and arrived here about a day ago."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "And who have you left in charge of the Companions?"

"Vignar Grey-Mane," Aela replied. "He's an elder, well respected by the others. True, he doesn't fight, but these are desperate times. First we lose Kodlak, then you..."

"And then you leave your post and directly disobey my orders?" Eirik asked.

"You're not our leader, just the Harbinger," Aela retorted.

"But you still haven't answered my question," Eirik said. "Why are you here on Solstheim?"

* * *

**(AN: Sorry for the expletive-filled author's note at the beginning, I just had to speak my mind, especially since it was Skyrim-related and I'm sick of people forgiving Dunmer racism/slavery just because a] it was in _Morrowind_ and _Morrowind_ is cool and b] the Dunmer are neither human nor white, so anything they do is automatically forgiven them, but then the Stormcloaks are equated with one of the most evil people in the world and that's okay? You can see how that would piss me off so!)**

**(On another note, I got to expand a bit on our characters. Rayya, being a Redguard, while she does work with Crixus from time to time, does not hold with his Empire-first ideology, since that would be seen by a good majority of Redguards as betrayal since it sold half of Hammerfell to the Dominion. Torgrim, despite hating Eirik for being a "rebel", actually does see himself as a good guy - he believes in the Nine [yes, the Nine, not the Eight], hopes to spend eternity in Sovngarde and cares about people other than himself. Lastly there was the delightful awkwardness between Eirik and Lydia. Also a hint at some of Crixus' debaucheries, which we will hear more of in _The Dragon of the South_. Also, since I'm somewhat on a roll, I think I will split the next story in two, so we get _The Dragon of the South_ and _Rise of the Dragon_. And I've probably given away what will happen in that chapter with that title [:(].)  
**

**(Originally this was going to be longer, but I feel like I've posted far too many long chapters and so I split this one in two, so the next part will have the good part that I have been planning.)**


	13. Fire from the Eye of Glass

**(AN: Here's an interesting thought. Since "Bloodskal" is the nickname for the Nerevarine among the Skaal, the Bloodskal blade is the blade of the Nerevarine...huh, never really occurred to me before.)**

* * *

**Fire from the Eye of Glass  
**

Aela did not immediately answer, her silence even more telling on Eirik's fears that a plain and straight-forward answer. What she had let on was that the other two of the Inner Circle, Farkas and Vilkas, whom he knew to be werewolves, were on Solstheim as well. Despite what this meant as far as her loyalty to him as Harbinger meant, it also meant something possibly even more sinister.

"He asked you a question," Lydia spoke up.

"I know, huscarl, I know," Aela replied, though there was no anger in her voice. "But by the horns of Hircine, I have no idea why."

"You mean," Eirik spoke up. "You and the Circle packed up without my leave, throwing all caution and the unity of the rest of the Companions to the wind, and you don't know why?"

"You were the one who left Whiterun," Aela returned. "Remember? Because of your affiliation with the Stormcloaks."

"I at least had a reason," Eirik said firmly. "You have no reason at all, nor can you even come up with an excuse."

"I don't ask for pardon," Aela replied. "I'd come here just the same, so would the twins. We don't know why, but we know as sure as the sun will rise that _this_ is the place we need to be."

"Are you going to let them get away with this, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"It's none of your concern, huscarl," Aela stated. "You're not with us."

"I will reserve judgment," Eirik said. "You are free to go wherever you please, but if you harm these people, I will have no choice but to defend them to the death with my very life."

Aela clicked her tongue. "Well, then, wouldn't that be exciting? Getting to test your mettle in a real battle."

"On your way," Eirik groaned, wondering if he should have been firmer with her, then suddenly he remembered something and called out to her. "What is the day?"

"Today?" she asked. "Middas, I think. Twenty-eighth day of Morning Star." She then turned about and, with bow still in hand, disappeared into the trees.

* * *

Later that evening, the Skaal were gathered about a bonfire in the midst of their camp. All were gathered here to keep warm, for the nights were still heavily entrenched in the cold chill of winter and the snows beyond the glade were deep. They passed around food and drink, most of which had been dried last summer or so and was still good though scarce. Some of the hunters regaled the outsiders with news of their hunts. These tales were fun to hear, though most of them ended in failure or the hunters almost being mauled. Eirik and Lydia sat with Morwen, the Skaal who had come to this village from Skyrim, and listened to the tales eagerly. Frea was busy in her hut taking care of Fanari the chieftain. While they were thus engaged, Crixus and Torgrim came in from their scouting which they had done that day while Eirik and Lydia remained in the village. Without another word, Crixus placed himself down at Eirik's left hand, took the skin of goat's milk from his hands, drank from it and then spat it out into the snow.

"A full day of searching through eight feet of snow," Crixus grumbled. "And this is all they have?"

Eirik felt that the milk wasn't all that bad, but knew that arguing with Crixus was a losing battle. "What did you find?"

"I went south, Torgrim went west," Crixus began as he took the dried fruit cluster from the bowl in front of Eirik. "He said he got as far as the mountain when a couple of Reavers saw him. Felt that it would be best not to get involved so he lost himself in the snows. I, on the other hand, had to wade through the ash as well as the snow, and there are more than just Dunmer down there. Although, I am surprised anything can live down there." He then turned to Eirik. "So, what did you and Lydia find while idling around here?"

"Several things," Eirik said. "For one, the Companions are here."

"All of them?"

"Only the Circle," Eirik replied. "I don't know how much you know about them."

"Everything," Crixus stated. "Despite your rather ineffectual ban."

"And you were there when Frea told us about the Bloodmoon prophecy," Eirik stated.

"Yeah? So what?" Crixus asked. "Listen, prophecies and foretellings are all bullshit. Ignorant people end up just _looking_ for things they can call 'signs' or 'fulfillment' of their stupid prophecies, half of the time they themselves don't even know about it. And then when their prophecy doesn't happen, it's rescheduled or reworded so that it's still valid. Complete and total..."

"Tell me, then," Eirik said. "Did you go down by the coast?"

"Of course I did," Crixus replied. "I went that way right after I left the village."

"What did you see?"

"I saw the black sand and the pebbly shore," Crixus stated. "I saw ice and water and trees and I saw Reaver bandits."

"Were there horkers? Anywhere?"

"There...might have been a few," Crixus said diplomatically.

"Were they alive or were they dead?"

"Look, what difference does it matter if they're alive or dead?" Crixus asked. "They were probably poisoned by the water around here, its so full of ash from the Red Mountain. It's not a sign."

"And the Companions arrived," Eirik added. "Only the Circle."

"That doesn't prove anything," Crixus replied obstinately. "Maybe they had a job here, an animal needed to be exterminated or something. Besides, you're ignoring a sign or two. You're just _looking_ for something you want to find, not actually looking at things as they are."

"And how would you explain these?" Eirik asked.

"Random, unrelated events," Crixus stated smugly. "That's what all of life is filled with: random, unrelated events that tend to nothing and come to nothing in the end."

Suddenly there was a cry of amazement heard and people started looking southward, towards Lake Fjalding which was visible from the hill on which the Skaal village was built. As the people gathered, Eirik and Crixus and Lydia joined them and looked out with wonder as they saw, in the distance, a tall pillar of fire billowing forth from the surface of the lake. It seemed as though the lake itself were on fire, so bright was its brilliance.

Eirik turned to Crixus. "What do you say to that?"

"A cheap magician's trick," Crixus replied. "Any mage skilled in destruction magic could make fire come from the surface of water. It could even be a dragon fight, or anything. There's no reason it fits into any prophecy."

"We shall see in the morrow, then," Eirik said, the distant blaze caught in his dark brown eyes. "We shall see."

* * *

The night passed without event and the next day dawned with Eirik and Lydia donning Skall garb before scanning the northern side of the island. According to Frea, the dark elves never ventured very far into the snowy uplands of the island and here the ice formed great walls and cliffs, which meant that they could pass through relatively safe. She warned them to watch out for the rieklings and bade them farewell. Crixus and Torgrim, meanwhile, went the way they had gone beforehand.

North of the village, the entire island turned into a glacier. Eirik hadn't been on the underside of the glacier since his first visit to the island, and had not passed westward, onto the plateau of what Frea called the Mortrag Glacier. He and Lydia went that way, clad in the heavy fur garments of the Skaal. While the cold wind bit them one and all to the bone, the clothes kept them warm. The snow, however, was not in any way exaggerated; so deep it was in some places that they felt as though they were swimming through it. By the time they reached old Saering's Watch, they were cold, damp but grateful for the clothes which kept out most of the snow and cold.

"How much farther," Lydia breathed. "Do we have to go?"

"We're at the highest point on the north-eastern side," Eirik said. "This was where Mjoll, Crixus and I slew a dragon. You should have been there. The beast breathed fire on her and she rose up out of the melting snow, alive and kicking. Not a scratch on her."

"You sounded like you really admire her," Lydia replied.

"I did and I still do," Eirik answered with a smile. "She is a peerless warrior, no offense meant."

"None taken, my thane," Lydia said. "Although I would not personally call her a skilled warrior. She usually just runs right into the thick of battle and let the Nine decide what happens next. That's not a good trait to have, since it could lead to getting yourself killed."

Eirik sighed. He looked out at the sea, seeing that there was nothing on the islands, only a few smoldering camp-fires from bandit camps too far out to be of any issue. His huscarl's words stung him and he felt as though he had to say something, but was she really able to keep Mjoll's secret as well? Then again, they had a secret of their own which they had kept and were, to the best of his knowledge, still keeping. Would it be so wrong to show Lydia the same kind of trust and respect that Mjoll demanded?

"There is a reason she fought that way, you know," Eirik stated.

"Why is that?" Lydia asked.

He sighed again. "I don't know if you know this, but she told me a while ago about why she cannot be harmed, or _could_ not be harmed. Long ago, in one of her adventures in Cyrodiil, she saved a hag from a mountain lion. Because of that, the witch gave her the ability to take any wound or hurt and not die from it...on the stipulation that she remain a virgin for the rest of her days...or else lose it."

Lydia snickered at first, but a stern, disapproving look from her thane quickly quieted her laughter.

"So..." Lydia said slowly at first, no laughter or jest in her voice. "That's why she wouldn't surrender herself to you that easily. But you and she fucked, didn't you? So it's gone, then, right?"

"Aye," Eirik said ruefully.

"Wow, what dedication," she mused aloud. "Still, that whole story about saving a witch and everything seems rather far-fetched. If it weren't for the respect and honor that I have for you, my thane, I would have..."

"I know," Eirik stated through clenched teeth.

"I'm sure Crixus would already be on the ground laughing his ass off," Lydia stated. "Still, it _does_ seem rather far-fetched for a mere sorcerer. It could be something more powerful. I've heard stories about the dealings of Clavicus Vile."

"Who?" Eirik asked.

"Clavicus Vile," Lydia replied. "In Skyrim, it isn't a rare thing for more than one of your townsfolk to be a daedra worshiper. I hear quite a few tales as well in the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. Some say he appears as a little imp boy with a single horn on his head, while others say he appears as a taller mer wearing a horned mask. He grants people wishes with hidden stipulations, which made me think that maybe Mjoll fell prey to one of his tricks. It could be that that hag was Clavicus in disguise."

"I hope not," Eirik stated. "I've had enough of daedric princes to last me a lifetime. First there's Meridia and Azura pulling me this way and that, and then these vampires of Molag Bal, and Hermaeus Mora and now Hircine. What could possibly come next?"

"I wouldn't start saying that if I were you," Lydia spoke up. "There are several daedric princes who take delight in meddling with the affairs of mortals. Ol' Vile is one of them, Sheogorath, the lord of madness, is another."

"You seem to know a bit about the daedra, Lydia."

"I've heard things..."

"In the Bannered Mare in Whiterun?" Eirik finished.

"Yes, my thane," Lydia chuckled. "Also, Skyrim isn't as strict about who worships what as in Cyro..." She paused, drawing out her sword from her sheath.

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"Just beyond us," she pointed. "A little south, back by the end of that old Nordic wall, where we came up this way."

Eirik turned around and saw a figure approach, clad also in the wolf armor of the Circle. This one he recognized by the shoulder length dark hair and the great-sword that he was now wielding. Or at least he thought he recognized him until he remembered that some of the Companions referred to Farkas and Vilkas as 'the twins.'

"Who goes there?" Eirik asked.

"Is that you, Harbinger?" a voice asked.

"Aye, it is me," said Eirik. "Farkas?"

"No, it's Vilkas," came the reply. Slowly Vilkas approached, sheathing his sword as he saw more clearly the face of the Harbinger of the Companions. "It seems that you've come here as well, though I doubt for the same reasons that we have."

"We've already seen Aela," Eirik stated. "Where is Farkas?"

"I sent him back to the ships," Vilkas replied. "I'm on my way there myself. It seems like we're not the only ones visiting the island lately. There's a Thalmor camp to the west."

"What?" Eirik asked.

"I'm sure you know who the Thalmor are," Vilkas stated. "And if you don't, you _will_ know when you return to Whiterun. But they're here on Solstheim now, they have a camp on the north-west side of the island."

"Wait a minute," Eirik spoke. "Thalmor are the agents of the High Elf Dominion. Aren't they only after Talos-worshipers?"

"I'd say," Vilkas said. "They drove Fralia Grey-Mane out of her shop in Whiterun and set up a gallows in front of the Bannered Mare where they hang Talos-worshipers daily. Remember that old priest in Whiterun, the one who's always shouting about Talos and the Empire?"

"Heimskr, you mean?" Eirik asked. "He was killed the night I left Whiterun."

"They turned his house into their head-quarters in Whiterun," Vilkas stated. "I know some people criticized Balgruuf for what he did, but this is even worse. They've forced one of their own into Jorrvaskr as an honorary member, doubtless to keep watch on us to see if we decide to join the Empire or the rebels. I fear something bad is happening in Skyrim."

"Yes, but Thalmor on Solstheim?" Eirik asked. "What could they possibly want here? There aren't any Talos-worshipers here, this island doesn't even belong to Skyrim anymore, so it's not part of the Empire."

"Well, it doesn't seem to have stopped them, has it?" Vilkas added.

"Do you know what they were doing?" Eirik asked.

"There wasn't much activity that I could see," Vilkas reported. "But I did see one of those villagers tied up to a post in their camp. It looked like they were interrogating him."

Eirik's interest was suddenly aroused when he heard Vilkas say that one word. "Villagers? What villagers? Were they Nords?"

"Certainly wasn't a Dunmer," Vilkas stated.

Eirik nodded. "Thank you, Vilkas. You've been most helpful."

"We came here to hunt, Harbinger," Vilkas suddenly said, giving Eirik a stern glare. "I trust you didn't bring the Civil War here with you."

"I assure you these Thalmor had nothing to do with me," Eirik said. Vilkas began to walk away when suddenly Eirik stopped him. "Wait a minute, hunt? Is that why you and the others of the Circle are here? You're hunting?"

"Yes," Vilkas said. "We're hunting, and it was something we couldn't involve the others with. That's why Aela left Vignar in charge of Jorrvaskr, if those damn elves haven't killed him by now, that is."

"What are you hunting out here?" Eirik asked. "The Skaal are running out of game, the ash-lands are barren. What could there possibly be to hunt here?"

"Bears," came Vilkas' cryptic answer.

* * *

**(AN: While my new reviewers didn't seem to mind my explanation for Mjoll's "essential-ness" in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, the original viewers hated it. I mean, they kept saying 'that's bs, why don't you say she was raped?' or something of the sort. I don't use that quite often, mostly just with Serana since that is quite possible [Molag Bal being the lord of that action, you know]. But people hated that explanation, up until I brought in Crixus and they hated that he was a "second" Dragonborn as well. So after a time I wondered that maybe it wasn't a hag but Clavicus [whom I seem to be calling every odd name for the Devil - aka. "Old Scratch", "Old Hob" and "Old Nick" - in my head after seeing his likeness in pre-_Skyrim_ Elder Scrolls games].)**

**(Also my brother took great offense to Barbas' Brooklyn accent, which means I probably won't go into detail about that particular quest in any Skyrim-based story. Lastly, what do you all think about the presence of Thalmor on Solstheim? Is it "unfinished lore" or do you think their mining of stahlrim has a more sinister reason, as I believe? There are no Talos-worshipers on Solstheim, Ulfric Stormcloak has no presence here, the Empire has no presence here, so why are they here?)**


	14. A Conspiracy

**(AN: So, apparently, bush, meaning a shrubbery, a diminutive plant or stunted tree, is considered a four-letter dirty word by the PM system on here. I was typing something about the Burning Bush from Exodus 2 and it looked like i said something else with all those asterisks. Then again, if you know anything about the Canadian extremist known as "big red", you'd probably be saying that as well. And before you say "ha ha, you're naive, bush actually means...", yes, I know what it means. I wasn't referring to the forty-third [and according to some, last] American president or the other name for...that. If I do mention it in my works, I never call it "bush", nor do I refer to it as such in talking.)**

* * *

**A Conspiracy**

Lydia and Eirik made their way west, taking their leave of Vilkas and not bothering to report on what they had heard to the Skaal. The news of Thalmor on Solstheim was disturbing enough without the knowledge of them holding one of the Skaal captive. They passed down off of the icy plateau of Saering's Watch and slowly made their way west, onto the large icy shelf. The land around them inclined until it became a great, snow-clad mountain that made up the bulk of the northern part of Solstheim. To the left they could see the ruinous remains of the Temple of Miraak, forever unfinished now that the master had disappeared and the cultists no longer heard his voice in their heads.

Once they passed the ruins, they saw that the land directly westward was sloping downwards. Before their eyes they could see the sea and, afar off, a line of tall, white-capped mountains covered all below in black and gray. A little south, just now visible past the main girth of the mountain of Solstheim, they could see, along the shore, a few black dots clustered together on the shore of the gray lands beneath the mountains. This was the Dunmer city of Blacklight, one of the last cities in Morrowind to still have some measure of its Third Era strength. Though it had not escaped the two hundred years of ash from the Red Mountain, the ambitious and determined House Redoran had managed to force some kind of stability. But the eyes of the two Nords were carried back to the mountains, where they saw, a little beyond the white line of peaks, one peak taller than the rest but only by a hair's breadth. That peak was the top of Mount Anthor, the second-highest point in all of Skyrim.

"Home," Eirik mused, gazing out at the tiny peak of Anthor in the distance. "Soon we'll be back there, and all of its troubles will be upon us again."

"Why?" Lydia asked. "I mean, I know that honor is a big deal for you, it's something important to me as well. But what if the war goes ill. What will you do? Stay in Skyrim to die? Why not come here, to Solstheim? It's so detached from the problems of Skyrim that they don't even care about the dragons. Here we wouldn't have to worry about elves or the Empire or whatever, we could be..."

"No," Eirik shook his head. "The arm of the Dominion can reach this far, there won't be any place safe from them if the Empire falls."

"You sound like you're about to throw down your arms and support the Empire," Lydia stated.

"Never," Eirik chuckled. "The Dominion has turned the Empire against its own people with this civil war. The way things are going now, they don't need to destroy the Empire as it's already destroying itself."

"And what if it happens?" Lydia asked. "What then?"

"Then, as Aela said," Eirik sighed. "We will fight the Dominion, each and every one of us. And we will die and Sovngarde will be ours."

"Good thinking, my thane," Lydia said with a smile.

They went on, going carefully as the sloping hills became more and more steep. At times they were barely fighting to keep their feet from slipping upon the snow, most of which had been frozen solid and was neither malleable under foot nor soft upon their asses if they fell upon it. There were no passes on this side of the mountains, no goat trails or foot-path used by spell-swords or bandits. The reavers never came this far north, nor did the Skaal heard goats, especially in this region.

Carefully they picked their way west and down the side of the mountains. The place Vilkas had stated was on the north-western side of the island but, as they had learned from him before he left, there was no way down on the north-western end. They were about half-way down, clawing their way with picks they had been given by the Skaal with their gear before they had left the village. There was a noise heard above their heads further up the path that sounded like a question in another language, but it was no language either of them recognized or understood. To their ears, it sounded like gibberish.

"_Brelfik__?_" asked the voice.

For a moment, Eirik paused at the strange sight which his eyes met with when he looked up to see the speaker. There, standing in the snow on the path they had just made coming down, was a bristle-back boar the size of a dog. Upon its back was a small thing about the size of a child, but it was clearly no child of any race they knew. Its skin was blue and it was covered in fur that looked even less civilized than the fur clothes of the Skaal. On its head was a strange head-dress made of the scalp of some creature like a saber-cat, though obviously smaller in stature in order to fit this little thing's head. In its hand was a spear which it held ready as though it would throw it at them like a lance.

"Shor's balls!" Lydia exclaimed when she saw the little thing. "I don't know whether to pet it or throw my sword at it!"

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"I don't know," Lydia returned. "Do you think it's a riekling?"

The little blue thing looked at them curiously for a while, cocking its head to one side without making any other movement. The boar snorted, but the small creature made no move one way or the other. It then muttered another phrase: "_Bru cha!_" and then turned the boar around and hopped back up the trail out of sight.

* * *

The day was swiftly passing on beyond the mountains to the west when they finally reached the shore at the bottom of the cliffs. Here they turned right, making their way northward. The black, pebbly shores were littered with the massive bodies of horkers lying here and there. Sometimes there were two or three large bodies piled on top of each other or strewn about here and there. The bodies stank and Eirik and Lydia could not bear to go near one out of sheer repulsion for the stench of rotting flesh. Yet even from afar they could see the marks across the massive horker bodies: marks like the claws of some large beast of wolf-kin.

They followed the bodies of horkers along the coast for an hour still, until the sun was nothing more than a half disc floating on the edge of the Velothi Mountains to the west. Suddenly the trail of bodies came to an end as they rounded a side of the glacial cliff and saw, just before them on a sheltered cove, a camp with a wooden dock set up on the shore nearby. Against the side of the icy cliff they saw a small shack built but it seemed to be uninhabited. Near at hand, however, they saw several tall, gold-skinned elves in their golden armor and a few others in the characteristic black robes of the Thalmor. Anchored and docked at the make-shift dock was a small ship, roughly the size of a Nordic drekkar, whose sails were furled up but whose banner was black.

"Thalmor," Eirik said with a sneer.

"How many?" Lydia asked.

"Enough, I'd say," Eirik said. "But we don't have to take them on just by ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked.

"We have powerful friends," Eirik said. "You met them in Sovngarde, remember?"

"The Tongues?" Lydia's expression changed at this news.

Eirik nodded and made his way towards the camp, head held high and eyes resolute on a post set up in the center of the town. Lydia followed on behind him, her shield firmly tied to her back. Several of the Thalmor seemed to be gathered around the post, speaking to something or someone there, but the wind and the crashing waves made it hard to tell what they were saying. By now, however, the sentries had spotted the newcomers and a rather tall elf turned around and approached them, a haughty, condescending look upon his face as he approached the edge of the camp.

"You there, savages!" he spoke up. "You're interfering in official business of the Dominion. You will leave immediately."

"This land isn't yours," Eirik said. "The Dominion have no jurisdiction on Solstheim."

"Rather big words for an ignorant snow-back!" one of the soldiers remarked, sending peels of haughty laughter from elvish lips until the tall one silenced them.

"Your arrogance is unfitting of your place, slave," he said. "All of Tamriel is the rightful property of the Aldmeri Dominion and its Thalmor governors. We go where we please. Now move along or die."

As the elves started to gather around the entrance of the camp, Eirik saw the Skaal man, tied up to the post in the center of the camp. His face was bruised and bloodied and he looked worse off for ware.

"What have you done to him?" Eirik asked.

"What business is it of yours what we do with _our_ property, slave?" the elf retorted.

"I am a free man," Eirik replied. "I'm not a slave to you or anyone, man or mer."

"Foolish, stupid human!" laughed the lead elf. "Your kind has no place in Tamriel. You were born to be slaves, just as we were born to be your masters. Now get lost: this is your last warning!"

"And those are the last words you'll ever speak," Eirik said. "_Hun...Kal Zoor!_"

There was a clap of thunder that sent all the elves scrambling away and crying out in fear. Behind them appeared the large form of Hakon One-Eye, one of the strongest Nord heroes of the Merethic Age. It was he who had fought Alduin at the final battle atop the Throat of the World in the ancient days and it was he who, just a few weeks ago, stood alongside Eirik as he faced Alduin in Sovngarde.

"Kill them in the name of Auri-El!" the lead elf shouted.

"Now!" Eirik shouted to Lydia.

Swords were drawn and Lydia pulled out her shield and a melee erupted in the midst of the camp. Both Eirik and Lydia were outnumbered, but they had Hakon on their side and no weapon could do him harm, for his spirit was save in the Hall of Shor in Sovngarde while he fought again at Eirik's side in Nirn. The elves, while they were numerous and had magic on their side, had one small disadvantage. All of the elves bore short swords in the elvish design or conjured blades glowing with blue light, maybe a light ax, a knife or a bow: Eirik had a great-sword of ancient Skaal design, Lydia bore a shield as well as her sword and Hakon had a battle-ax whose height from the end of the head to the bottom of the pommel was the same as Lydia. Lastly, while Eirik and Lydia wore only Skaal garments and some of their Thalmor enemies wore armor, their armor was light.

While the elves were dismayed by Eirik's shout, he drew out his great-sword and buried it in the chest of the nearest elf soldier. The keen blade pierced through the light, elvish armor and impaled. But without waiting for the others to strike, Eirik heaved the blade out and swung at another. The elf's conjured blade was held up to block the blow, but it only barely saved his life. Another elf came from the left, but Eirik kicked him back: while tall, the high elves were also thin-framed and no match for a powerful Nord. He tumbled backwards, only to have his head taken off by a mighty swing from Hakon's battle-axe.

Lydia, meanwhile, was fighting off two Thalmor soldiers at once. Blow upon blow she blocked with her shield, waiting for an opening. It happened when both of them attacked her at once. Up went the shield, clanging loudly as the swords beat upon it, then she pushed them both back. With a shout, she drove her sword into the face of the elf on the left, then kicked him down to the ground. The second one was coming up from the right, but she whirled around, bashing him in the face with her shield. The elf's helmet fell off his high-foreheaded face, revealing pale golden hair and a mouth filled with blood from her strike. While dazed, Lydia followed up with a swift strike through the elf's throat, which sent a sickening gurgle from the elf's lips before he fell to the ground at her feet.

"We're under attack!" one of the robed Thalmor sorcerers shouted. "To arms!"

At least eleven more soldiers appeared from the ship and the tents, all clad in armor and bearing swords, axes, maces and shields. Just as Eirik was about to shout again, a blast of lightning from one of the sorcerers struck him down to the ground, twitching and convulsing as the bolts arced and coursed across his body through his sword. Lydia, meanwhile, was being surrounded by elves as she fought in vain to keep their swords from striking her. A shield-bash from behind knocked her face-forward into the sand. The one who felled her smiled with delight as he brought up his axe to bring down into her neck when all of the sudden an arrow struck his hand, knocking the axe out of his hand and sending it sailing into the ground at the foot of another. As two others turned to see where the arrow had come from, the other two, minus the elf with the arrow in his hand, tried to finish Lydia off. But at that instant, Hakon tackled them both to the ground in a mighty charge.

While the elves had been busy, two adventurers in Skaal clothing had seen the fighting and decided to see what it was. When they saw the (supposedly) two figures fighting off against outnumbering foes, they joined the fray. The larger of them ran towards a group of five around one writhing on the ground with the smaller-framed one drew an arrow from his bow and sent an eagle-eyed shot into the hand of an elf with an axe in his hand. One of the robed elves in the rear sent bolts of lightning at the first one, but the archer drew back his bow and shot him in the chest.

Eirik felt that death was near until a large, bear-like thing plowed down two elves and an arrow struck the sorcerer sending lightning to shock him. Though sore, he pushed himself back onto his feet as he saw the large, bear-like Nord in Skaal gear pick up an elf with his bare hands and heave him towards the others who had been gathering around him. Another ran towards him but he seized the elf's mace hand, shook the blade out, then struck him with his head, seized the elf's head with both hands and twisted it around so that it was facing from the back. Eirik recognized the large, blond-haired form of Torgrim, who had saved him from the elves.

"Get down!" Torgrim shouted as Eirik was rising to his feet.

Without warning, the large Nord pushed Eirik to the ground and an arrow went whizzing over-head and struck another elf sorcerer, this time in the throat. By now it was a rout. Two of the three lead Thalmor sorcerers and half of the soldiers were now dead.

"Kill the savage!" the last robed sorcerer shouted.

Eirik, now pushing Torgrim off of himself as he rose up, saw a soldier running towards the captured Skaal. He heaved his sword at him, hacking off both legs and sending the elf onto the ground, screaming in pain from the loss of both legs. Behind him, the two who had run towards the archer were now fighting him off in a melee as the archer pulled out a short-sword to battle them. The two that Hakon had tackled were now dead and Torgrim had picked up a rock and smashed it into the head of another elf: the loud crunch of bones indicated that the elf's high-domed skull had been bashed in. Eirik, meanwhile, had walked over to the legless Thalmor, who was crawling towards the bound Skaal on his hands. Picking up his sword from where it had fallen on the ground, he drove it directly down into the elf's back, nailing him into the ground then twisting the blade once it struck earth. Looking back, he saw the archer with his sword in the chest of one elf, then draw it out and send it across the chest of the other. The first elf fell backwards while the other staggered for a while as the archer slashed him again: when he finally fell, his hands were held to his chest, where bloody entrails were seeping out of the hole carved into his stomach.

"To me, you fools, to me!" the last elf sorcerer ordered.

The three remaining elf soldiers crowded around their leader, but Lydia led the charge into them, attacking one with a shield. But the elf bashed her with his shield and sent her sword flying out of reach. He kicked her down and came upon her with glee, eager for the kill at hand. Lydia, meanwhile, saw the forsaken mace of one of the elves lying on the ground, picked it up and struck the oncoming elf in the head with it. Staggered for a time, he could not see her as she rose to her feet and rained down upon his head with the mace, knocking his helmet off and revealing a golden face that was bruised and covered in so much blood, there was little semblance of "elvish beauty" left in it. She continued to strike until at last there was a crack and the elf twitched, then fell lifeless to the ground.

Eirik ran towards the last three with a shout, exchanging blows with one elf with the other, dismayed by Eirik's roar, started running for his life. An arrow felled him from behind as Eirik bashed the elf in the face with the pommel of his sword, drew back and followed up with a wide sweep that parted the head from the elf's neck, sending it back until it smacked the lead elf in the face. The elf started to run but Torgrim seized him by the throat and pushed him up against the wall of the small shack. Eirik held his blooded sword at the neck of the elf while Lydia ran for her sword and the archer, revealed now to be none other than Crixus, joined Eirik with his sword at the elf's throat.

"Ancarion, I presume?" Crixus asked.

"What brings you here, Servius?" the elf Ancarion asked. "You're supposed to be in Solitude, kissing Elenwen's arse and licking her boots like a good cur!"

"Hit him," Crixus said. Torgrim obliged with a swift strike to the elf's face. "I don't work for you, elf. I never have."

"You foolish, stupid man!" Ancarion laughed. "Your human Empire is our slave, doing our bidding. It doesn't matter if you killed the Emperor, we still own you!"

Torgrim struck Ancarion again. "Shut your lying mouth or else I'll rip your tongue out of your throat and bash in all your teeth!"

"Not yet," Crixus stated. "We need information out of him." He turned to Eirik. "Well? You've got your man, release him. There's nothing to see here."

"I have a few questions for this bastard myself," Eirik added.

"He's _my_ prisoner," Crixus retorted. "You can have him when I'm done with him."

"Come on, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "Let's see to 'our' man, as he says."

Eirik turned to the post, where the Skaal was still held captive. Eirik began untying the ropes around the Norse's hands.

"I remember you," the large man said. "You saved us from the dark magic of Miraak. All-Maker be praised that you've come to rescue me. I am Baldor Iron-Shaper. I see that you've taken care of these elves."

"What were they after?" Eirik asked.

"They wanted to know the secrets of forging stalhrim," said Baldor. "That one..." he nodded towards Ancarion. "...said he had a map of a hidden source of it somewhere on the island. They kidnapped me from my home and tied me up to this post. They tried to make me talk, but I never told them anything."

"What's stalhrim?" Lydia asked.

"Enchanted ice," said Baldor. "Harder than iron and cold as death. It is said that when Nords first came to the lower lands from Atmora, they brought the secret of enchanted ice with them. They used it to seal the tombs of the dead from tampering by sorcerers and to forge powerful weapons and armor. Only the Skaal know how to work stalhrim."

Eirik patted Baldor on the shoulder, then turned to where Torgrim and Crixus held Ancarion. He placed the blade of his sword back at the throat of the elf.

"Why are you here?" Eirik asked.

"There's no place in all of Tamriel," Ancarion said. "That is beyond the influence of the Dominion."

"Why are you after the Skaal's secrets?" Eirik asked. "Why do you elves want to know how to work stalhrim?"

The elf spit at Eirik. "You deserve much worse for your insolence, slave, as well as your stupidity! For what other reason would we want to harness an ancient substance known to make powerful weapons and armor?"

"Just what are you planning out here?" Crixus asked.

"Foolish slaves," Ancarion laughed. "You will never know until it is too late!"

Crixus gestured with his thumb over his shoulder and Torgrim nodded in affirmation. The large Nord seized Ancarion, dragged him over to the dock and shoved his head into the icy cold waters of the sea. Eirik, Lydia and Baldor made their way towards where he was held, but Crixus turned about and drew his sword on Eirik.

"This is Imperial business, Nord," he said threateningly. Eirik said nothing as Crixus strode back and gestured for Torgrim to bring the elf back up. Torgrim heaved Ancarion back onto the dock, coughing and sputtering and shivering in the cold.

"Enjoy your bath, Ancarion?" Crixus asked.

"I kn-now everything ab-b-b-bout you, Colovian s-s-scum!" Ancarion shivered. "Your f-f-father was a womanizer and your m-mother was a whore s-so weak that sh-she didn't feel that living...for your brother and you...was worth the ef-f-fort!"

If Eirik thought he had seen Crixus angry before, he was sorely mistaken. With a loud expletive, he dove into kicking Ancarion in the stomach over and over and over, shouting and cursing with each blow. Once he was finished, he dragged him back to the edge of the dock and shoved his head down under, holding it under the water.

"That's enough!" Eirik shouted.

"I'll decide when he's had enough!" Crixus replied. After a moment more, he dragged Ancarion out of the water, coughing and sputtering.

"You..." he breathed. "Will never see...your brother again!"

"Tell me why you bastards need their enchanted ice!" Crixus seethed angrily.

"Why else does an army need weapons?" Ancarion sneered. "You tell me that...concubine."

Once again Crixus shoved Ancarion's head into the waves. He held the elf's head under for a good long while, ignoring protests from Eirik and Lydia that he was going too far. Suddenly Ancarion's body began to convulse and massive amounts of bubbles began to break across the surface, torn up already by the thrashing of the elf's hands.

"That's enough, Crixus," Torgrim spoke up.

"This doesn't concern you," Crixus replied.

"He won't be able to answer your questions if he's dead!" said Torgrim.

Crixus did not reply but continued to keep Ancarion's head below the waves. Eirik tried to pull Crixus back, but he punched him in the face then held both hands over the elf's head. Both Lydia and Torgrim now seized him from behind and dragged him back onto the dock, but at that moment, the body of Ancarion slumped on the edge of the wharf. Eirik walked over to Ancarion's body and pulled it back onto the dock. Turning it over, he saw the face was a pale shade of yellow, but he was looking for something _on_ his person and in his robes. He mulled about until he drew out something made of old leather and bound in string. This he stowed away into his Skaal robes, then turned to the others. He nodded at both Lydia and Torgrim, but held Crixus under his stern gaze for a long while.

"We're going back," he said at last.

* * *

**(AN: Finally got a new chapter update, despite all the bad shit that's been happening to me. Yay for you!)**

**(While I have certainly been dropping hints about Crixus' past in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and this story, I don't want to throw it all out there just yet. That will appear in the next story, "The Dragon of the South" [which I finally figured out what it is! Here's a hint: _Redguard_].)  
**


	15. Bloodmoon

**(AN: While this chapter might lead some to believe that we're only brushing over the events of Bloodmoon [or at least the Fourth Era version of Bloodmoon], but, as the lore itself has spoken, the Great Hunt of the Bloodmoon is not confined only to Solstheim, that is just where it happened in _Morrowind_.)**

**(We've got quite a bit of ground to cover in this story, and I don't mean that figuratively. I also want to make two things clear before we continue. I have walked down a mountain in the gathering gloom [my mom and dad did so in the dark later on] and it is NOT easy to do, nor would it be a picnic going _up_ in the dark, which is why the direction choice is made. The second thing to clear up is that "frozen snow" might sound redundant, but snow can freeze. I felt frozen snow when I was at Tahoe after Christmas last year and it's no picnic either.)**

**(Also, something I want to ask my reviewers [all one of you, lol]: are you not tired of the "hero needs personal reason to fight the villain" cliche? I mean, as a growing writer, I realize how much of an impact a character's death can have on another character, but just to kill them off so that the hero will have a personal reason to fight the bad guy feels way too over-done. I think Peter Jackson took it too far with his version of the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy where Aragorn pulls a dick move and refuses to help Gondor/humans in the war against Sauron by claiming his birthright because he's afraid that he'll end up like Isildur. And he continues to act this way until Sauron's power threatens Arwen's life [something made up by Peter Jackson just to get Aragorn to stop being a selfish dick]. And even almighty Katniss Ever-bore [i tried watching _Hunger Games_ as well as reading the book, was not interested or drawn to it in any way] is only involved because the Capitol tried to have her little sister die in the Hunger Games. I mean, I know that the 21st century's x-generation loathes morally good characters and calls them plain and boring [poor Jon Snow], but do _all_ of our heroes have to have the morally gray attitude of a Ron Perlman/Jason Statham douche-bag anti-hero character, where they don't get involved in anything until it's personally affecting them? Does nobody actually care about things other than themselves and do things altruistically or do we only do things to be noticed?)**

* * *

**Bloodmoon**

The nights of Solstheim were even darker than in Skyrim for those five now making their way eastward, towards the Skaal village. Rather than travel north, back through the mountains, they chose to go south, around the base of the mountain, and around to the Skaal village from the south-west. For them, however, this meant that they would have to be going through the dreaded ash-lands. Eirik felt unsafe going this far out of their way, but Crixus, who took over the direction of their group as soon as they left the Thalmor camp, said that it would be safer than going through the mountains.

"Those cliffs won't be easy to climb in the dark," he said. "Damn near impossible, especially with the frozen snow. Also, if anyone's out there watching the ash-lands at this hour, they won't see anything other than five Skaal on their way back to their village."

The clouds of ash kept the light of the moons obscured for much of the night, making it even darker and gloomier than usual. They had little wood for fire-making and neither Eirik nor Lydia had any wood for torches. Luckily, Crixus knew a candlelight spell which he had used in their travels through Darklight Pass in the Wrothgarian Mountains during the vampire crisis towards the end of last year. Therefore they had a measure of light to guide them through the ash-fields on their way south and east around the base girth of the mountain.

Their road was not an easy one. Once the snows vanished, they found themselves waist deep in ash with their feet not even touching the true ground beneath it. The ash clung to their clothes, still damp from the snows of the northern side of the island, and ever and anon part of the ash-laden hill-side would give way under their weight, causing them to fall and slide down quite a ways and had to be helped back up onto the path. Thus they made their slow path through the darkening ash-fields, hearing nothing but the stillness of the night, the distant howl of the sea-winds and the slush of their feet on the ashen ground. In the deep and darkness of the night, without a sound or sight other than the ominous glow of the candlelight in Crixus' hand and no warmth, a sheen of cold solitude fell upon them one by one.

"Do you feel the stillness of the night?" Baldor whispered, his voice falling dead out of his lips upon the dead land around them. "It chills one to the bone. Ah, the All-Maker is testing us indeed. Would that I were back at my forge with the heat of the fire upon my hands and face."

"I agree," Lydia added. "If this is anything like how the ash-lands are, I think I'll take back what I said about wanting to settle down here."

"It's only this way in the southern part of the island," Eirik added.

"Pray tell, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "Since I doubt we'll be visiting Raven Rock any time soon, can you tell me a little about it?"

"A Dunmer town swimming in ash," Eirik stated. "Everywhere you go, red eyes follow you with suspicion, fear and mistrust. The people talk very little and what little they do say is always short and ill-tempered."

"You know," Crixus spoke back. "Like how you Nords treat the Dunmer in Windhelm."

"Again with this?" Eirik asked.

"Yes, again with this," Crixus repeated. "And again and again until you elf-haters are put in your place, Ulfric's head is hung from a spike on the gate of the Imperial City, the Empire is victorious and your people let the elves live among you. To say nothing about the Argonians and Khajiit."

"Why do we have to put up with the Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"Because you Nords promised to let them live in Skyrim autonomously," Crixus retorted. "I know honor doesn't mean much to you people - just look at Talos and Ulfric, for that matter - but if you make that big a promise, it should be kept."

"Do you ever shut up?" Lydia asked.

"You can't silence me, slave!" Crixus retorted. "I'm a citizen of the Empire and I'll talk if I want!"

"We're far away from your Empire, friend," Baldor added.

"Shut up, savage," Crixus snapped.

"A fine fellow you are, Crixus," Eirik spoke up. "Say one thing out of your mouth one minute and then the exact opposite the very next moment."

"You know nothing, milk-drinker," Torgrim interjected.

"And you blindly follow this one wherever he goes," Eirik said. "Your duty to a dying empire has blinded you to the ignorance of this man who has no true allegiance to anyone but himself."

"He is a faithful servant of the Empire," Torgrim said. "Unlike _you_."

"He killed the Emperor!" Eirik shouted. "Do you see how deep his loyalty is?"

"You really do know nothing," Crixus chuckled.

"You actually believe those elvish lies?" Torgrim added with a mocking chuckle.

"He told me so himself!" Eirik exclaimed exasperatedly, gesturing to Crixus.

"No idea what he's talking about," Crixus laughed. "You haven't been hitting the skooma, have you?"

"You fucking admitted it to me yourself!" Eirik shouted, anger rising up within him.

"I honestly have no idea what you're babbling about," Crixus laughed. "And you really need to watch your language. You swear even more than Shaddar's crewmen on the Red Dog."

"_I_ swear?" Eirik asked incredulously.

"Yes, you do, far too much," Crixus stated. "Just like you Nords."

Suddenly they heard in the distance the howl of a wolf. All of them halted their bickering and looked about at the darkness. While none of them, save for Baldor, were unfamiliar with the cries of the wolf, none of them had heard this sound splitting the air of the island.

"Wolves!" Baldor exclaimed. "There haven't been wolves on Solstheim for at least a hundred winters. My grand-father told me stories that his grand-father told him about the Red Year, when the fire-mountain in the south erupted. He said the wolves came into the northern side of the island, but slowly began to thin in numbers as the Skaal culled them to protect the herds of game. We never killed many of them, but they slowly began to die off until they were no more. But how have they returned?"

"These are no wolves," Eirik said.

Crixus chuckled. "Oh, please. Are you still going on about that stupid superstition about the moon turning to blood?"

"It's no superstition!" Baldor stated. "I saw the horker bodies lying on the shores. These howls mean that wolves have come back to Solstheim."

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "And I saw fire on the lake, just like it said."

"That doesn't mean anything," Crixus retorted. "Any mage with even a superficial understanding of destruction magic could have conjured flames from the surface of that lake. It doesn't mean any prophecy is coming to pass."

"Has the moon turned to blood?" Baldor asked. "The skies were overcast and now it is too dark to make out anything."

"Just a moment here," Eirik said, looking up at the skies.

"Wait, don't do that!" Lydia interjected. "The wolves will hear it and come for us!"

"They're not wolves," Eirik stated. "They're werewolves, and they know me."

"Beast-kin," Torgrim sneered. "At least it's the venerable wolf."

"_Lok...Vah Koor!_" Eirik shouted.

There was a rumble of thunder and then a rush of wind and a bleak sky with scant scars appeared. The blackness of night was replaced by an eerie glow of red light that fell upon everything that it touched. Near the edge of the horizon was the large, reddish-blue sphere of Masser, the largest of Nirn's two moons. Eirik knew that, among other things, it was said that Shor placed part of himself in the sky as a constant reminder to the race of man of their duty: blood red that it was to fight and die that they might be gathered to him in Sovngarde. Due to its dull color, it never shone bright enough to give a reddish hue to the night under stars, as it was constantly outshined by the smaller moon Secunda.

But then they looked directly overhead. And there, hanging in the sky just a few short degrees from its zenith, giving off a ghastly halo of crimson light, was Secunda, shining blood red like a hand freshly dipped in the blood of the slain.

"The Bloodmoon," Baldor murmured.

"So what?" Crixus asked. "This isn't anything special. So Secunda turned red. Stranger things have happened, it doesn't mean it's a prophecy. Have you heard the legends about the Warp in the West?"

"There's the proof, you idiot!" Lydia exclaimed. "The wolf-howls, the fire on Lake Fjalding, the dead horkers and now the little moon turning to blood?"

"I accept that these things happened," Crixus said. "I don't have to believe they are what you and Eirik say they are."

"Well, isn't that just fine, then?" Eirik retorted. "'I don't have to believe that these are the signs of the Bloodmoon.' Pretty much refuse to believe anything your eyes see because it doesn't fit with your narrow-minded thoughts."

"Narrow-minded?" Crixus laughed. "You're calling _me_ narrow-minded?"

"What will you say when you die and you stand before the Nine?" Eirik asked. "'I admit that you exist but I don't have to believe what you are?'"

"Why not?" Crixus asked. "If they punish me just for not believing in them, they don't deserve _my_ worship!"

"But they are our masters!" Torgrim said. "They gave themselves to make our world, should we not honor them?"

"Shut up, Torgrim," Crixus replied. "You can't argue intelligibly with this milk-drinker. Leave him to me."

"As you say," Torgrim demurred, with a tone of resentment in his voice. "But I feel that the huscarl was right. Shouting like that will alert the wolves."

"They're not wolves!" Eirik shouted.

Suddenly there was a loud roar and their blood froze in their veins. Eirik, Torgrim and Lydia drew their weapons while Crixus continued leading the way. Despite the glow of the moon, it was still dark and the candlelight gave them more than enough light to see their way back to the snow-fields of the north. For a while they heard nothing but the howl of wolves in the distance and no more roars, but then there was another sound heard that gave them even more cause to fear: the rumble of distant thunder.

"That doesn't sound good," Lydia stated.

"It isn't, outsider," Baldor said. "The rains freeze to the bone and set the ash down in the south, but up north we're liable to find a blizzard keeping us from the village. Come, let's pick up the pace!"

They continued running as fast as they could through the ash fields, which slowly began to become shallower and shallower. Soon the ash died all together and dark, frozen ground was heard crunching beneath their feet. The ground soon gave way to snow as they found themselves now in the eaves of the snow-fields.

But at that instant, a large dark shape leaped out of the snow and tackled Torgrim down into the snow, sending him rolling down the hill they had been trying to encircle. Crixus snuffed out the candlelight spell, conjured up a mage-light spell and threw it forward in the direction they had been going, drew out his short sword and turned to the others.

"Follow the light," he said. "I'll catch you up later."

"Wait!" Eirik called.

But it was too late. Crixus was making his way down the slope to where, in the dim light of the blood-moon, two shapes could be seen wrestling. One was very large and very dark, seeming almost like a great bear. But then all three figures were lost in the darkness and Eirik could see little of them. Only the sounds of Torgrim and a loud thing of bear-kin roaring gave indication that any of them were still alive.

Suddenly a dark shape appeared before them, blotting out the shimmer of the will-o-the-wisp mage-light ball floating on the crest of the snowy hill just a few feet beyond. Eirik immediately reached for his sword but before he could say anything, Lydia charged forward, sword in hand and shield on her arm. Eirik drew out his great-sword and made his way towards the creature when suddenly Lydia went flying back, crashing onto him and sending them both falling backwards into the snow. The snow shook with the heavy foot-falls of the bear-like monster, and Eirik smelt its foul breath, ripe with rotten flesh. In a moment the bear would be upon them, mauling them with its large paws which struck harder, from what Eirik had seen, than any true bear.

At that moment, another shape appeared and tackled the bear down to the snow. The new thing was roughly as large as the bear-thing though it moved twice as fast, tearing and biting at the bear's flesh while easily leaping aside from the huge swings of the bear paws. Another figure appeared and the two began tearing the bear apart between them. A growl was heard and suddenly there was a blight flash of light. From below the hill, Crixus and Torgrim came walking up to where Eirik and Lydia were crawling out of the snow. Crixus held aloft a ball of candlelight in his left hand with his short sword in his right and Torgrim seemed to be hobbling. Nearby they saw a large thing of man-height but much bigger with the upper body, including head and paws, of a large bear. It was dead, mauled open with the snow painted red with its blood. The other one was nowhere to be seen but around them, lurking just out of the glow of the candlelight spell, were three large creatures of wolf shape, which seemed to be hemming them like a dog herding together the sheep. Eirik kept his hands on his sword, gazing individually at each of the wolves in turn. In the dark they seemed to be just large black shapes, but now, in the glow of Crixus' candlelight spell, he could see that only two of them were blackish of fur. Directly in front of him was a large wolf with reddish fur and pale blue eyes looking back at him.

"It's alright," Eirik said to the others. "They won't harm us."

For a moment the wolves stood their ground, not making a move or showing that they would permit them to pass. For a while there was nothing but silence, uneasy silence and the panting of the three wolves around them. At last there was a loud roar and a howl in the distance and the wolves departed. For a moment they halted, though Eirik did not press the matter of the Bloodmoon prophecy with Crixus. He chose to remain obstinately ignorant to the truth, despite the irrefutable proof of his eyes, and to press the matter would end in only another pointless argument.

"Damn beast-folk!" Torgrim grumbled. "That thing swung like a saber-cat!"

"Too much for you?" Eirik asked. "I once wrestled a saber-cat and won."

"A likely story," Torgrim laughed. "Tell me, did you stow a poisoned knife into your belt before wrestling said beast? Maybe you managed to catch the poor beast with a choke-hold so that it wouldn't be too difficult for you, isn't that right?"

"We need to keep going," Crixus said. "Just before it got dark, I saw some storm clouds on the horizon. We don't want to get caught between a blizzard and these beasts."

They decided to carry on, hoping to reach the village before the storm broke upon them. They pushed forth as best they could in the dark, though Eirik realized that Torgrim was lagging behind, almost as though he had been wounded. He said nothing and kept his course. They made good time, passing over the bridge and seeing the gleam of the candlelight spell on the ice of lake Fjalding on the right. They now found themselves crawling up the hill to the glade where the Skaal village was kept when suddenly an arrow came whistling down upon them. There was a loud cry and the candlelight spell vanished. Looking back, he saw in the glow of the moons Torgrim carrying a body that had fallen backwards into his arms. He took a brief moment to count those standing with his eyes: he saw four bodies. Someone had been shot.

"Agh, damn! By Namira's rotten..." Crixus' voice shouted.

"What was that about not cursing?" Eirik asked.

"How about I shove that long-sword up your arse?" Crixus groaned. "Some shit-brained savage shot me in the shoulder!"

"Friends!" Baldor cried out up ahead, hoping that they would hear them.

"Good thinking," Crixus groaned. "Let them know _after_ they shot at us!"

"Carry him," Eirik said to Torgrim. "We're almost there and we can't afford delays."

"Oh, bullshit!" Crixus shouted. "I had worse at the Siege of Bravil in the war. Just get me some fire and strong drink and I'll pull myself back together."

Up ahead a light appeared and three Skaal appeared carrying torches. One of them, Eirik saw, was dressed in the silvery Nordic carved armor which Mjoll had worn since it had been gifted to them by Crixus so many months ago. It still amazed Eirik how Crixus could be at once a friend and at the same time a massive pain in the ass. As the figures approached, Eirik saw that the armored one was Frea.

"By the All-Maker!" Frea exclaimed. "I did not mean for this to happen! As the night fell, the bears and the wolves began attacking. We've had to barricade the village and I suppose someone mistook you for a bear, Skaal-friend."

"Yeah, great to know that," Crixus groaned.

"Dragonborn, your friends from the ship on the coast," Frea said to Eirik. "Some of them came into the village looking for you two. They're in the great hall. You should speak to them immediately. I will see to the other one."

Frea ordered the others to carry Crixus back to her hut while Eirik and Lydia made their way to the great hall. True to Frea's words, as they entered the Skaal village, they saw that it was mostly deserted, with the doors and windows barred and lights extinguished. All those about had spears, axes and bows in hand, ready to defend themselves against the invasion from the darkening woods. Immediately Eirik passed into the great hall, where half a dozen spears met him from those Skaal defending the hall. When they saw that he was no beast, they lowered their weapons. Behind them Eirik saw Rayya, Gorak and Shaddar the Old standing with backs to the fire-pit and spears in hand.

"There you are!" Shaddar greeted. "Where have you been? They said you had gone away early this morning but had not come back. Where is Crixus?"

"He was wounded," Eirik said. "Frea took him to her hut to treat the wound."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait," Shaddar said. "We cannot stay here any longer."

"Why?" Lydia asked. "What's wrong?"

"A storm is coming," Shaddar said. "My crew spotted it on the horizon this morning. They guess that it will reach the island within a day." He turned to Eirik. "Have you and Crixus concluded your business on the island?"

"Aye, we have," Eirik said.

"Then we must leave now," Shaddar said. "I'll go and find Crixus."

"Wait!" Gorak the orc spoke up. "We are not leaving without Eld!"

"Where is she?" Eirik asked.

"She went hunting in the afternoon," Rayya answered. "We haven't seen her yet."

"There's no time!" Shaddar shouted as he ran past the Skaal guarding the door, with surprising agility for an older man, and passed out into the cold.

"Rayya," Eirik turned to the young Redguard. "Where are our things? Our armor, our clothes."

"I took them back to the ship," she replied. "No sense in leaving them around since we're leaving soon."

"You're a good woman, Rayya," Eirik said with a smile.

"Hey!" Lydia spoke up. "What about me?"

"So are you," Eirik added. "But she doesn't get in everyone's way."

"I don't get in everyone's w-oh!" Lydia exclaimed as Torgrim pushed her aside as he strode into the hall.

"What the hell is going on here?" he bellowed. "I just saw Shaddar run into the shaman's hut, then come out, dragging Crixus out between his shoulders and Frea's."

"We're leaving," Eirik said. "We've got to reach the boats soon."

"Not without Eld!" Gorak shouted.

At this there was a shout and suddenly, in the light of the torches of those few Skaal still in the village grounds, there appeared the images of the large bear-men. While against a werewolf, such as Eirik guessed from seeing the eyes of the Huntress in the red wolf, they were no match, against a mere man or mer the were-bears of Solstheim could cleave deep wounds with their claws if they were lucky to survive the encounter. At least three had entered the town and two had attacked the Skaal defenders. The last one was making its way towards the great hall when a large figure suddenly crashed through the trees and seized the were-bear from behind, pinning its neck with a mighty staff. After a moment or two of struggle, the giant had strangled the were-bear, which collapsed to the ground ineffectively. The second bear turned towards the giant but a swift throw of the spear skewered the bear like a wild boar.

"Eld!" Gorak roared proudly. "Now we can make our way down to the ships! Eld, we're leaving! Come!"

"Wait, what about Crixus?" Eirik asked.

"Fuck him!" Lydia retorted. "He's been nothing but trouble ever since he showed up uninvited on the doorstep of Breezehome!"

"There he is!" Torgrim shouted.

Eirik turned and saw Frea and Shaddar carrying Crixus between their shoulders down the hill towards the Red Dog. Frea held a torch aloft in her hand while Shaddar guided the way. Behind them came Rayya and Gorak with Eld running up with a spear in hand, each footstep shaking the ground. Torgrim followed, leaving now Eirik and Lydia to stand against the last of the three were-bears that had attacked the village. Baldor was nowhere insight: hopefully he had run to his house once they arrived in the village. But as they were turning to leave, the bear charged at them on all fours, roaring its challenge.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted.

The Thu'um caught the bear head-on, throwing him against a tree and giving them once more time enough to escape back down to the ship. Eirik and Lydia turned and then practically stumbled their way down the snowy slope back to the coast. By the time they had arrived, Gorak and Shaddar had placed Crixus in a boat which Eld pushed out to sea while Rayya and Torgrim climbed into the next boat with the giantess. As Eirik and Lydia approached their boat, Frea met them.

"Can you make it back to the village?" Eirik asked.

"If it is the will of the All-Maker," she replied. She sighed. "I had always wanted to be chief, and now that I am chief in all but name, I begrudge this fate. Woe that the Bloodmoon prophecy should come true in my time."

"Don't be," Eirik said, shaking his head. "Your people still live, you should do something. Fight back. If this is a test of the All-Maker, rise to the challenge and protect your people. He who curses the dark but won't light a torch deserves to remain in the night forever: for him the darkness is all within."

"Your words fill me with purpose, Dragonborn," Frea said. "And hope for my people. We will fight to protect ourselves, to show the All-Maker that we can survive. Though, as we are few, this comes as a great blow for us. I would be most appreciative if you stayed. There is still so much..."

"You can do that on your own," Eirik said. "Your people lived before my father was born, and, seeing how you shrugged off the threat of your world being devoured by the dragons, your people will continue to live long after my bones have become one with the earth."

"Yes, you are right," Frea nodded. "I know now why my father would not have me be the chieftain of the Skaal." She sighed. "But even if I am not now ready, I must become ready soon. If Fanari does not recover, I will become the chieftain of the Skaal."

"And may the Skaal prosper under you, if that happens," Eirik said with a smile. "Now, please, I must go. If you have anything else to share, send me another letter."

"I cannot write," Frea said. "The Skaal have no need to write."

"Then if Tharstan survives this winter," Eirik said. "Have him write a letter to me with your words. And now I must go: may the All-Maker be with you, Frea Stornsdottir, and with your people."

"Wait! One more thing before you go," Frea spoke.

"Hmm?"

"Thank your friend Crixus for all that he has done for the Skaal," Frea said. She then smiled and looked at Eirik with admiration. "The All-Maker has blessed the Skaal with your presence. May he...and your foreign gods...keep you safe on all your travels."

Eirik nodded and smiled in return, then made his way to the last boat where Lydia awaited him. He pushed the boat off and, after a swift jog through freezing cold water, leaped into the boat and took an oar as he and Lydia rowed out to the Red Dog awaiting them. His mind was wrapped around Frea's last words to him. Not only had she strangely blessed him by _both_ the All-Maker and presumably the Nine as well, but she asked specifically that he thank Crixus for 'all that he has done for the Skaal.' What could Crixus have possibly done for the Skaal? He held them in derision for refusing to accept Imperial culture and customs that, accordingly, would ensure their survival in the harsh land of Solstheim, he hated that they were Nords little different, in his mind, to the people of Skyrim and he was not exactly one to do any task or give any boon for free. What had Crixus done?

* * *

**(AN: Finally got this chapter out [favorite phrase of mine for these stories, along with 'my brother and i...', lol]. I've also got a few things to go on for the next chapters, which will start getting very interesting indeed. Lots of nice imagery in this chapter, especially the halo around the moon and frozen ground crunching under foot and the grim yet beautiful quiet of snow. Also, despite the "lore", wolves hunt bears, not the other way around, which is why I put that bit in about the Red Year and the Skaal having to do with the thinning of wolves/werewolves on Solstheim. I also was a bit uneasy about the parting with Frea, but I didn't know any other way of how to end this chapter. What do you think?)**

**(I also would like to say, based on some of the dialogue in this story, that while I loathe what Steven Moffat has done to _Doctor Who_, there are some parts of Russell T. Davies' _Doctor Who_ which made me cringe. Number one: "The Stolen Earth" with its cameo by the second worst person on the planet [pretty much the Crixus of the militant atheist movement. You lot should know and love this 'dick' - lol, get it?]. Number two: bestiality acceptance [which Gregory Maguire of _Wicked_ also pulled in _Out of Oz_, which leads me to wonder, since RTD and Maguire have something in common and its not that they're men]. And number three: "The Satan Pit." In a typical "i don't believe in fairies" move that we saw strangely reversed in "Midnight", the Doctor flat-out refuses to believe anything that happens on this planet hovering over a black hole. Man, your open-minded, progressive anti-hero is strangely closed minded [or maybe not so strangely]. And then when he goes to the bottom of the "bottomless pit" and comes face to face with the Devil itself, what does he say? "I accept that you exist but I don't have to believe what you are." COP-OUT! That pretty much gives our sexist, genocidal bullying Timelord [at least how he's depicted in the Moffat era so far] leave to pretty much find Heaven, see God face to face and go "i don't have to believe You are who You say You are, nah nah nah nah nah!" I needed to address that great annoyance, so I worked that kind of obstinate ignorance [John Knox is awesome!] into the dialogue between Eirik and Crixus and the latter's refusal to believe that the Bloodmoon prophecy is real.)**


	16. Imprisoned

**(AN: Okay, my brother [no, we're not talking about him, but somebody else] follows a blog on tumblr which is all about the lore of pre-_Skyrim_ Elder Scrolls games, mostly for the fun of having this blogger do what everyone else seems to do and point out where _Skyrim_ fails in comparison to Kirkbride's _Morrowind_ or fat-faced _Oblivion_. And this blogger mentioned the C-0-D-A [it's not coda, it's c-zero-d-a] and the stuff they said about it was just all kinds of back-talk just to rationalize a bunch of exclusivist, pro-_Morrowind_ bs. Although, there were some points of this blogger's post which I found valid. Number one, his assertion that _Arena_ and _Dag__gerfall_ were plain, basic, formulaic _Dungeons and Dragons_/_Lord of the Rings_-influenced fantasy RPG, yes, I can see that. Of course that is probably why people loved _Morrowind_, because it based a fantasy world solely on Eastern/non-Norse/non-Tolkien traditions. Unfortunately, _Morrowind_ is also very pro-elvish to the exclusion of all other races and the blogger said that _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ were the humans [the tin-can knights of Cyrodiil and the vikings of Skyrim - my words only] trying to take center-stage from the elves. In that light, why is it seen in _Skyrim_ that the Nords' mistrust of the Dunmer as a bad thing since the Dunmer are racist, slavers and, in the game, they actually _are_ supporting the Empire clandestinely?)**

**(I say this because of what happens in this chapter. If this story were _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and people actually reviewed it as much as they did that story, the reviews of this chapter would probably feature something along the lines of "i liked your story up until now. your portrayal of the Dunmer was out of character and just used to justify the Nord's racism. i'm done reading your story" or "your story has too much racism" or whatever. It is actually said in the lore, as well as by Kirkbride, the god of _Morrowind_ [because Vivec is a self-insert, imo] and by his supporters, that the elves are exclusivist, racists, slavers, they don't even like their own people if they're not part of House Redoran or Telvanni or whatever [Kirkbride referred to Talos as a "virus", because humans becoming gods is just so evil and blasphemous to elves that he has to be demonized into a "virus" in order to make all the elves feel better about their bigotry], so what I'm doing is just, right and canonical.)**

* * *

**Imprisoned**

By the time that morning came, the thirty-first day of Morning Star, a cloudly Loredas in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, the Red Dog was well under way to leave the shore of Solstheim. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a problem. The initial decision had been to sail, as they had done before, around the southern end of the island and then go north-west until they reached Dawnstar or Solitude in Skyrim. However, more than once had there been reports of storm-clouds coming in from the north. A storm was swiftly brewing and making its way towards the mainland, with strong winds pushing southwards towards Vvardenfell. Had they intended to go around the southern end, these winds would have been in their favor, but these winds also blew the ash-cloud from the Red Mountain back towards Vvardenfell and the mainland of Morrowind.

"That is no longer an option for us," Shaddar had told them all at council in the captain's cabin on board the Red Dog. Eirik and Crixus were here, along with Rayya and Lydia. The huscarls stood against the wall while Eirik and Crixus bent over a map of Morrowind on Shaddar's desk, to which he pointed with a knife. Crixus seemed to be doing well for himself, despite having been recently shot in the shoulder: a white cloth wrapped around his shoulder where the arrow had hit stood out from his black garb.

"If we went south," the old Redguard continued. "We're liable to be spotted by someone in Raven Rock, or possibly Blacklight. We're here illegally, after all."

"Since when has that ever stopped you, old friend?" Crixus asked.

"I do not relish the idea," Shaddar stated. "Of facing the wrath of House Redoran if we're spotted. So.." He pointed to the northern end of Solstheim. "...our journey will take us around the northern end of Solstheim, out of the eyes of those in the south and then back into friendly waters in Skyrim."

"This isn't a good idea," Eirik said.

"Please," Crixus retorted, turning to Eirik. "Share with us your opinion, born from your extensive knowledge of sailing."

"If there is a storm coming out of the north," Eirik said. "Then sailing around the northern side of the island will be the most difficult task to perform. The wind will be against us and we will not likely be able to reach the other side before the day is out. And then if we are caught in the storm..."

"We won't be caught in the storm," Shaddar said firmly. "The Red Dog is no mere Nordic drekkar. She is as swift as the wind and will not suffer her crew to be drowned."

"I think you should trust him," Crixus said. "He's been sailing since before your Ulfric was born, and that's saying a lot."

"I'm still uneasy about this plan," Eirik sighed.

"Don't worry your tiny mind about it," Crixus replied. "Shaddar knows what he is doing. Just get you back to your quarters and wait for our return to Skyrim."

"Where in Skyrim?" Eirik asked. "Will we be putting in at Dawnstar again? Maybe you will decide on Solitude at the last minute."

"And why would I do that?" Crixus asked. "I'm not the captain of this ship."

"You know why," Eirik retorted.

"I'm not setting you up for a trap!" Crixus shouted. "Didn't we just leave Solstheim? What point would there be in springing a trap if my message was true and my purpose genuine?"

"If you two are going to argue again," Shaddar sighed. "Take it out of my cabin. I have more important things to listen to than to grown men acting like children."

"I'm not acting like a child, he is!" Crixus said, gesturing to Eirik.

"Come," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "We should leave anyhow. I have something I want to talk about with you."

"I've got nothing to say to you, _Nord_," Crixus retorted.

"It's about your family," Eirik stated.

At this point, all eyes turned towards Crixus. He did not visibly turn towards Eirik or make any indication that he had heard what was said other than breathing menacingly through clenched teeth.

"If you insult my father, mother or brother," he said. "I will kill you in your sleep, and I'll make it look like an accident too. I'm not even joking, I'll do it!"

"I'm not insulting anyone," Eirik replied. "I just have a few questions about them is all."

Crixus looked over at Shaddar, then at Rayya, then walked out of the captain's quarters. Eirik followed him out onto the main deck, down the stairs leading below, then to the end of the hallway where his room and Lydia's was built. Here Crixus halted, leaning against the wall of the cabins with one hand while the other passed over his face which he had turned away from Eirik.

"Well?" Eirik asked, once they were alone.

"How much do you know?" Crixus replied slowly.

"Hardly anything," Eirik answered.

"Good, keep it that way," came the reply.

"I want answers!" Eirik said firmly. "Twice I've heard you bring them up: when we were in Driftshade Refuge and when you were interrogating Ancarion yesterday."

"Fuck Ancarion," Crixus replied. "He knows nothing."

"Listen," Eirik began. "I'm sure Rayya told you everything about my past. It's come up more than once in critical situations, I want to know about yours now. I want to help if I can."

"You can help," said Crixus. "By never speaking about this ever again. My private life is private for a reason, arse-hole." There was silence for a good long time as Eirik looked at Crixus but the latter did not respond. For one moment Crixus turned his head and glared at Eirik from over his shoulder. He said nothing but Eirik felt an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach under that gaze. Without another word, he walked back down the hall, pushing Eirik against the wall with his shoulder and glaring over his shoulder at him as he passed on up the stairs.

* * *

True to Eirik's fears, the journey around the northern end of Solstheim was longer than they had expected. They were moving against the wind and, despite the best efforts to close haul the ship to increase their speed. By noon they had reached the north-eastern corner and by evening they were not even past the bulk of the island's north face. Eirik and Lydia were asleep in their room in the ship's hull, as they had done a hard night's work crossing Solstheim and fighting and flying from were-bears.

After a good many hours of sleep, Eirik slowly roused from slumber to see Lydia lying against him with her head on his shoulder. He said nothing and made no move at all until the ship rocked with a sudden crash almost threw him onto his face. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he found the entire ship heaving and rocking violently back and forth. He poked his head out into the hall and saw water starting to build up on the floor and several crew-men filling buckets with the stuff.

"What's happening?" Eirik asked.

"We're in a storm!" the crew man, a Colovian, replied. "Give us a hand, we're taking on water!"

Eirik helped them as best he could, but they couldn't tell him if there was a leak or where it was. Eirik guessed that most of the water was washed into the lower decks from above. After he could bail no more, Eirik took rest for himself and returned to their room. Lydia was already awake and getting their gear up off the floor as water was now pouring into the cargo hold. She did not wait long before joining the others in bailing the water out of the hull. On and on this back and forth bailing went as more and more crew from the upper decks started coming down below to keep safe from the storm. Though there was no light of sun, the darkness grew deeper as they passed on into night and soon they had to light candles in their rooms. Never too many for the rocking of the ship made even a little fire a great risk.

How many bleak, empty and wet days like this passed on the Red Dog, Eirik had long since lost count. All he knew now was the endless pounding of waves upon the hull of the ship and cold, wet, sleepless nights in the cargo hold. There was no longer any meaningful attempt at keeping dry made by any on board the ship, as they ended up amounting to absolutely nothing but frustration.

* * *

One morning Eirik awoke to find that the ship was not shaking or tossing. There was a gentle creak of the boards but no sign of the storm. Eirik rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, hoping that they had returned to Dawnstar. He longed to see Mjoll again and hold her in his arms. But all thought of seeing his beloved again fled from his mind when he heard shouts from the deck above. He pushed himself up, took his great-sword in hand and bounded down the hall and up the stairs to see what might be the matter. When he reached the top, he saw the crew getting ready for battle, swords, axes and bows in hand, with at least two large mounted crossbows of Dwemer design being positioned on port side of the ship. Looking thither, Eirik saw the endless sea opening up across the port, with a small spot of grayish land in the distance.

But then he saw two ships with red banners. One was port-side to the left of the small gray island and the other was also port-side but on the other side of the island, near a shadowy gray land whose shore could be seen as a black line in the distance. Turning around, Eirik thought that they had come the wrong way and landed near Raven Rock, but nothing here was familiar to his eyes. He saw gray, ash-covered wastelands and mountains in the distance, but nothing much else. Then he saw, on the land just off the starboard side of the ship, several smaller boats making their way from the land. On the edge of the shore he saw several figures in goldish armor with a red banner held above their heads by one.

"Shor's bones!" Eirik exclaimed. "What is this?"

"We're under attack!" Crixus shouted from the helm above the captain's cabin. Turning there, Eirik saw that he was not at the wheel but standing near something on top of the deck. Eirik was about to make his way up when suddenly there was a loud explosion and a burst of black smoke and Crixus went flying down onto the deck at Eirik's feet. He cried out and Eirik noticed that, while he was pushing himself up, Crixus could only use his right arm.

"What happened?" Eirik asked.

"Fire-ball," Crixus groaned. "Someone guessed we'd have a cannon on a Redguard ship."

"Who? Who's attacking us?"

"Who do you think? Damn dirty Dunmer!"

"Why not give them what they want?" Eirik asked sarcastically. "Why are you even resorting to calling them such?"

"Because what they want is us!" Shaddar shouted from the helm. He was at the wheel and, despite looking shaken up from the explosion.

"Then we'll fight back!" Eirik said.

"Too late," Crixus replied. "Even if we hoisted anchor now, there's no escape out of the bay."

"Those damn dark elves won't take the Red Dog while I am captain!" Shaddar exclaimed, drawing out his scimitar. "Fight to the last man!"

"Belay that!" Crixus shouted. "I'm not dying for you, old friend."

"I'm with the captain," Eirik said. "If those Dunmer get on this ship, I can Shout them back into the sea!"

By now, Shaddar had made his way down to where Crixus and Eirik stood, and was looking angrily at the Colovian.

"_I_ am the captain of this ship, Servius!" said the old man.

"And you made a mistake going north of Solstheim!" Crixus stated. "This is what you get for that. We won't get anywhere if we all commit suicide fighting these Dunmer. Might as well find a way to live a little bit longer."

At that moment a grapple was hooked onto the rail of the ship and shortly thereafter bone-mold armored Dunmer soldiers were hopping all over the deck, drawing out their swords and axes on the crew. One of their number removed his helmet, revealing a Dunmer man with deep-set red eyes and his hair cut into a traditional mohawk.

"Who is the captain of this slave ship?" he demanded in a voice of authority.

"I am the captain of the Red Dog," Shaddar spoke up. "And this is not a slave ship, this is a merchant vessel!"

"You're not a Dunmer," the soldier said. "And where is your writ of permission, 'captain?' We don't take kindly to your kind in Morrowind these days."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Eirik asked.

"You have no place to talk, snow-back!" the Dunmer shouted, then turned to his fellow Dunmer. "Kill this one."

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted.

Two Dunmer guards went flying off the starboard edge of the ship and crashed into the sea below. Before Eirik could reach for his sword, four Dunmer leaped upon him and held him down from behind. Two held each of his arms, a third held his head and the fourth ripped off Eirik's shirt and bound it for a gag about Eirik's mouth. Once gagged, the Dunmer captain approached Eirik and struck him across the face and kicked him in the groin.

"You people do not belong here," the captain said. "You don't belong anywhere. And I aim to make sure you pay for trespassing on our territory." He then turned to Shaddar and Crixus. "You ignorant savages bring a _Nord_ to Morrowind? Bah! Might as well have purposefully dumped a bucket of scrib into a butcher's charnel house. For exposing us to this disease, I should have you all killed and confiscate your ship!"

"You do that," Crixus said. "And you'll have the Empire to deal with. We're all citizens of the Empire and our deaths will be on _your_ hands!"

"Ha!" exclaimed the elf. "This is Morrowind! Your Empire has no jurisdiction here! And your threats don't scare us, snow-back. Your Empire cannot even defend itself from the Aldmeri Dominion!"

"Then why don't you just kill us and get it over with?" Crixus sneered.

"Captain Lelvyth!" one of the helmeted soldiers spoke up. "The Festival of Remembrance is not yet over. Surely we cannot..."

"Silence!" captain Lelvyth shouted. After a while he groaned out a sigh. "The Tribunal smiles upon you, outsiders, for whatever reasons I cannot say. As it so happens, the Festival of Remembrance is currently underway in the city of Blacklight. There are...certain rules which govern that day, and as they don't apply to you, you cannot die today as you deserve." He then smiled.

"But you are still trespassing in the domains of House Redoran," he continued. "Therefore you shall be taken back to Blacklight and imprisoned until the end of the festival in four days time. After that, you shall be killed. Take them all away!"

* * *

**(AN: I really wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible as well as a much shorter chapter than the last one.)**

**(I made a reference to _Redguard_, one of several I will make in this story or _The Dragon of the South_. There are apparently cannons in _Redguard_ despite there being no gunpowder in Tamriel and that was in the Third Era. My guess is that the Redguards have made advances in that field, which might explain one reason why they had an advantage over the Thalmor. These advances were made during a turbulent time in Hammerfell history, shortly after which the Redguards left the Empire, which is why the post-_Oblivion_ Empire does not have gunpowder weapons. I'm not saying that if I made a spin-off set in Hammerfell [which I plan to do] that everyone will be having handguns and rifles and shit, just that armies will have a very large and very cumbersome cannon for a siege or whatever, sort of like the French during the latter half of the Hundred Years War.)**


	17. The Mouths of Madness

**(AN: It's kind of a thing of mine in story-telling [probably from my time with the _Harry Potter_ books] that either chapter sixteen or seventeen has all hell breaking loose. I'm glad I got to make that happen in the last chapter.)  
**

**(The title of this chapter comes from the lyrics to _Orchid_'s title song off their latest album The Mouths of Madness. We also get the appearance of a certain character and some rather interesting hints at my fanon version of _Oblivion_ as well as...well, you'll see. MAJOR spoilers from _Oblivion_ as well as _Shivering Isles_.)**

* * *

**The Mouths of Madness**

Of all the possible deaths which Eirik had faced, languishing for four days in a Dunmer prison in Blacklight, the capital of Morrowind, was not one of them. Even had he not been bound, gagged and beaten - while Torgrim and Lydia had only been bound - he knew that he was not welcome in this part of Tamriel. The faces of those he saw in the street were filled with anger, their bony faces contorted in pure loathing and their red eyes dripping with malice.

They were then brought below the ash-filled streets of Blacklight - whose black, chitinous houses and buildings made it look little different than Raven Rock - and into the dungeon of Redoran Keep: a large stone structure which Eirik found strangely out of place. Here they were so many that the prison warden actually released almost all the other prisoners - a thief, a kinslayer and a Khajiit - in order for there to be enough room for them all. Even then there was only three to a cell and some had even more than three. Only one previous prisoner - a Dunmer who had forced himself upon a noblewoman of House Redoran - had been kept in the prison. Once Eirik went into his cell, he watched the others to see if Lydia was alright and who else had been captured. Crixus was thrown into his cell, but there was no sign of Lydia, Gorak or Eld. Whether they were dead or had escaped capture he did not know.

Once the doors were shut and the bolts locked, Crixus tried to find out as much as he could about Blacklight. The prison warden and the guards were not helpful and struck his hands with their truncheons if he, clinging to the bars, called out to them. The only one who was open to talking was the rapist, Feryn Dreth, who inhabited the cell directly across from them. Unfortunately, he seemed to be enjoying how they were, in his words, 'crawling' before his knees for information.

"My brother Romlyn," he said one day. "Tells me all about your kind in Skyrim. He says they treat him like shit, paying him less than his due or sometimes nothing at all. They spit on him and throw stones at him, calling him 'darky', 'long-ears' and 'gray-back!' Like a Dreth should bear such indignity! My ancestor was there when Uriel Septim was slain. He fought off the Mythic Dawn assassins all by himself, with both hands tied behind his back! And he would have saved your precious emperor were it not for that meddlesome Argonian, the one they call the 'Hero of Kvatch.'"

"You're in here with us, friend," Crixus said. "You have no reason to be..."

"Don't call me friend!" Feryn replied. "I'll be out of here in no time. That Redoran b*tch was honored to have my seed in her and soon the high councilor will see that. Not so lucky for you, though, I tro. You have friends, don't you, Imperial? Hmm? Friends, family, loved ones, siblings. Oh, don't you worry about them, I'll take good care of them for you once you're dead!"

Crixus struggled against the bars, futilely hoping that he could break them with his strength even though his left arm was still aching with each shove. "Keep on talking, Dunmer, and I'll rip out your tongue and shove it up your arse!" Crixus threatened.

"Ooh, tough talk, snow-back, I'm scared!" mocked Feryn. "But you can talk all you want, because you're going to die here, don't you know? You and all of your friends. You're all going to die!" Having said his peace, he turned his back to Crixus and leaned against the bars of his cell.

As the days wiled on, the talk with Feryn did not grow any more cordial, though Crixus was able to learn a bit more through the taunts, threats and talk of their impending doom. The Festival of Remembrance was a relatively new festival held on the last three days of Morning Star and the first five days of Sun's Dusk. It was to honor and remember those of the houses of Morrowind (mostly Redoran, though) who had been 'unjustly' murdered by the cold-blooded invaders from the south. Apart from general debauchery and hedonism to enjoy the fact that the Dunmer people survived, the ordinances of the festival held that at least one Argonian, whom the Dunmer referred to unapologetically as 'scale-back', should be sacrificed to the True Tribunal.

"I thought," Crixus said. "That the Tribunal cults had died out in the Third Era."

"You know nothing, pale one," said Feryn. "The True Tribunal were not the ones whom the Nerevarine dealt with in the Third Era. No, House Redoran is wiser than to adhere to lying gods."

"From the stories I've heard," Crixus added. "Your people certainly flocked to the Nerevarine."

"And then the eyes of House Redoran were opened," Feryn continued. "Once he disappeared into the west, they opened our eyes to the True Tribunal, that which we have long since forgotten. We will not be slaves to anyone, whether your Empire, the Old Tribunal or the Nerevarine. No one enslaves House Redoran! Heh! Your people are all fools: only those who are not of House Redoran are the slaves."

"Which is laughable," Crixus snickered. "Especially since you're all slaves to the Argonians."

"Bah!" Feryn spat. "You're really as thick as you look, _human_. House Redoran would not dare allow itself to be shackled by the scale-backs. We are clever, we are fierce. We used the Red Mountain, which has laid waste to our homeland, as a barrier between the scale-backs to the south. They cannot pass farther north, but we, who are accustomed to the ash-lands, thrive in the north. Two hundred years are nothing to us. House Redoran reclaimed the northern islands and Blacklight. Soon we will have the south and drive the scale-backs out of our homeland. You Nords will be next."

"I'm no Nord, dark elf!" Crixus retorted.

"All you humans look the same to me," Feryn grumbled as he turned away from Crixus.

"How did you do it, though?" Crixus asked.

"Why do you care?" Feryn asked, shoulders turned towards Crixus.

"Well," Crixus began. "Your gods shat on you with the Red Mountain, the Nords oppress you and then the Argonians invaded you. How could your people have possibly recovered from such a severe thrashing?"

"It was difficult, aye," Feryn continued. "The way I've heard, House Redoran bribed and cajoled their way back into influence in Blacklight: good on them as well. Also, you Nords had a helping hand in that as well."

"I told you before I'm not a fucking Nord!" Crixus seethed.

"How should I know, eh?" Feryn asked, finally turning to face Crixus. "You look like one, and you're certainly as arrogant and pig-headed as one. You're also as stupid as one of them. They gave us Solstheim, thinking they were doing us a favor by giving us a frozen, barren rock. Heh! Word is that they found ebony on Solstheim just last year, the only mine that wasn't flooded by ash."

Crixus said nothing, but turned to the wall and punched the bars, then swore as his hand hurt from striking iron. He looked down and saw Eirik leaning against the wall of the cell, head hung uncharacteristically down.

"What's your problem, then?" Crixus asked. "You didn't just learn that you helped these dark elf bastards back into power."

Eirik did not answer, for he was bound about the mouth and had his hands in shackles. After the attack on the ships, the Dunmer knew better than to keep him unbound and able to Shout. Crixus was about to say something when his face suddenly fell and his haughty, arrogant tone suddenly became more sincere and sober than it had ever been in Eirik's presence. He sat down next to Eirik's side, a grim look on his face.

"What irony," he chuckled. "The one time I get to speak without having you run your ignorant Nordic mouth and we're both going to die tomorrow. Fifth of Sun's Dawn, that's what that sload-fucker said." He gestured over to Feryn's cell. He then sighed.

"You know," he began. "The history of the Third Era, of wise Uriel Septim's Empire, is painted with the blood of heroes. And those heroes were not loved by fate. The Eternal Champion found himself in a prison just like this one before he saved the Emperor from Jagar Tharn. The one these Dunmer call the Nerevarine arrived in Balmorra as a prisoner. The Hero of Kvatch, whoever she, he, it, what-the-hell-ever, was, was in prison when the Emperor saw him, her, it, according to the legends. The way I see it, you and I, we're in the company of the great ones. And while I personally don't bother with such things, if the Eight are real, then they should definitely love you: and if they don't, then Oblivion take them all!"

Eirik said nothing, as he was still bound, but turned to Crixus with a new found respect for the Colovian in his eyes. Crixus idly threw a stone at the plate of meat on the other side of the room which had been given them when they entered the cell several days ago.

"Don't touch that food, whatever you do," he said. "It's probably squirming with scrib. They'll eat you from within: slow, painful and hardly an honorable way for one of your people to go. Agh, damn dark elves! You know, when they brought us down here, I swore I saw two of those guards throwing dice or whatever, playing some kind of game for money. The coins they used were elongated and black: I'd almost say they were ebony. Guess the septim isn't worth anything out here."

Eirik rolled over on his side, gazing hopelessly at the cold, stone floor. He squirmed within his blanket, feeling Divines alone know what kind of lice crawling around in his blanket: but it was useless. The blanket was filled with the little bastards, the meat infected, the air stank with the prisoners who had inhabited this cell previously and he was stuck in a cell with Crixus rambling on about how backwards the Dunmer of House Redoran were before the glory of the Empire. He closed his eyes, hoping that his sleep would be uninterrupted. He knew that Sovngarde would not be his home - no honor in being executed by Dunmer. He missed Mjoll and Lydia and Ralof and all those he knew back home. At last sleep came upon him after what seemed like an eternity on his feet without it. His eyes slid shut and soon he was lost in sleep.

* * *

When morning came, Crixus shook Eirik awake. The first thing Eirik realized was that he was not bound, either by hand or by mouth. Looking around, he saw that they were inside a large stone hall with a high vaulted ceiling. At the farthest end of the hall there was a great tree growing inside the hall, whose top disappeared into a mist gathering at the roof. At the base of the tree there was a throne of stone, with a long carpet, half red and half violet, stretching down from the foot of the throne down the length of the hall. Just before them Eirik saw a long table of wood set up with a table-cloth also half of red and violet. On the table were many different kinds of foods: roasted meats, bread, soups, sweet rolls, ale and wine in great number and cheese by the wheel. As Eirik rose to his feet with Crixus at his side, they turned to the table and saw, seated thereat, was an old man, dressed half in red and half in violet. His hand rested on a staff with three faces screaming in agony upon the head, while the other hand stroked his short beard pensively. His eyes were closed and he looked as though he were in deep thought.

"It's about time, laddies," the old man spoke. His accent was a thick Bretony brogue, the kind only found by those in the highest north of High Rock and his tone was mirthful. "You know, I've been watching your progress down there. The Mistress of Dawn, the Hoarder of Knowledge, the Lady of Infinite Energies, the Queen of Nightmares and the Lord of rape have all found a way to bring your paths across theirs, but not me."

At this the old man opened his eyes and held Crixus and Eirik in his gaze. Eirik froze instantly when the eyes fell upon him and his heart froze and his mouth went dry. For the eyes he saw were the eyes of a dragon, like the red, narrow-slitted eyes of Alduin the World-Eater.

"And just who are you?" Crixus asked.

The old man laughed, a low, cold mocking laugh that seemed to drain away all the mirth of his voice. "You already know me, son. You just don't know it yet." Then he laughed again and there was mirth. "But, where are my manners? Please, sit down. You're horribly late for dinner. Punctuality is a virtue, but thankfully not one that I admire, so I'll reconsider eviscerating you until after dessert."

Eirik and Crixus slowly approached the table, but they did not sit down just yet. The old man turned to his plate and picked up a dainty, which he ate for a moment before opening his eyes and looking at them. The glare of his dragon's eyes sent shivers down both of their spines and they shortly took their seats thereafter.

"Do you know something I hate more than anything?" the old man asked.

"I have no idea," Eirik replied.

"Same here," Crixus added.

"Order, for a start," the old man began. "Things get boring when it's just one thing going orderly into the next, don't you know? Another thing I hate is the Tribunal. Those impudent bastards actually dared to challenge my authority and then refused to accept their due judgment. Those are two things I hate. Oh, and Bosmers, them wee wood elves. I had one of those annoying little fuckers following me around for quite a while. Dogging every single step!" He laughed menacingly and smiled. "He enjoyed the view in the end."

"What are you talking about?" Eirik asked.

"Nothing, that's the point," replied the old man jovially.

"Which is?" Eirik asked.

"Nothing!" the old man exclaimed. "That _is_ the point. Life has no meaning, so why not step in and stir the pot a little bit, eh?"

"But what was the point of these things you hated?" Crixus asked.

"Nothing, son," said the old man. "Just sharing a little chat. Have you two lost your appetite in prison? Eat up! The eidar is divine!" The old man burst into laughter.

"Was there anything else?" Crixus asked.

"Maybe," said the old man. "Sometimes being an immortal has its draw-backs. But thankfully you two seem like intelligent enough. You know, there are some people in the west of Skyrim that have some interesting beliefs. They believe that eating the heart and eyes of someone will give them their strength. Personally, I'd much rather go for the brains: they go quite well with cheese, you know."

Eirik was feeling off-put by how nonchalantly the old man spoke about eating brains. He spoke with the same ease as one would if they were talking about the weather.

"Of course, that's what it was!" exclaimed the old man. "Being an immortal has its draw-backs. Not a day goes by where some sorry bastard is begging me for help. 'Confound my nephew, lord!', 'Bring down a thunderstorm upon my enemies, lord!', 'Mommy never bought me that dolly I loved, so I want her to go completely bonkers, lord!'"

"You're a god?" Eirik asked.

"A god?" laughed the old man. "I've been many things. I was a woman once. A Colovian farmer who had never swung a sword or learned to read or write." The old man stretched out his arms to the large stone hall behind him. "...look at me now!"

"And just who are you?" Crixus asked.

"That is a good question, son," said the old man. "Do we really know who we are? Some think they're pure shite who have held the fate of Nirn upon their finger-tips, while others think they're made of gold but are nothing more than the rotten grape cluster: ruined for some but wine for another generation."

"Just cut the riddles and answer me straight out!" Crixus said, clearly annoyed.

"You want straight, is that it?" asked the old man. "How about straight from the ceiling? That's how your entrails will hang, wrapped around your neck with you dangling from the end. That's what'll happen if you interrupt me again, son!"

"Why do you call him son and me laddie?" Eirik asked.

"And you," the old man said, turning to Eirik. "Don't ask questions before its time to answer them. I've got more power in me than any of you could possibly imagine and if you ask me another stupid question, I will shave your skin off your body: I will wear your skin like a suit, I will then appear in Nirn dressed in your skin and I will find your wife and I will rub your arse in her face while singing 'Lady of Wayrest' on top of your mother's grave."

When both Eirik and Crixus were thoroughly horrified, the old man smirked, then finally spoke.

"As for who I am," he said with a scoff. "I've been so many things in my life, sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten. The Marquis of Madness, the Duke of Dementia, the Sithis-shaped hole in creation, Fourth Corner of the House of Troubles, the Hero of Kvatch, the Mad Star, Lord of the Never-There, the Champion of Cyrodiil: you can call me Ann Marie, but only if you're partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with your fucking entrails. If not, then you may call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness."

Eirik was nervous to say the least. Aside from the consternation around being in the presence of yet another daedric prince, he began to have doubts about himself. He had always worshiped the Nine Divines, but now the words of Miraak came back into mind: once a servant of the daedra, always a servant of the daedra. One by one they were forcing their way into his life. He had done nothing to invoke them and yet they seemed to be seeking him out actively. A quick glance from the dragon eyes of the Mad-god made him even more troubled: the look in those eyes was one of understanding and menacing approval. He knew exactly what was on Eirik's mind and he approved: it was exactly where he wanted him to be.

"Bullshit," Crixus said, mirroring Eirik's very words on their first meeting. "Every story I've heard about the Hero of Kvatch said that he was an Argonian."

In that moment the old man bowed his head and when he lifted up his head, the old man was gone. Instead there was a woman, roughly middle-aged, seated on the throne, wearing the same clothes that Sheogorath had been wearing. Eirik was so disturbed that he almost vomited. For one, the face of this woman, though looking roughly his own age or within the upper mean of five years of it, reminded him of Lydia or of an older relative. Secondly, in this face, hard, stern and matured, yet so similar to the face of his huscarl, the eyes were the same dragon eyes of Sheogorath. When the woman spoke, the voice was one of a woman from the Colovian heartland.

"_I_ was no Argonian, son," said Sheogorath. "And I certainly wasn't a man, at least not in that life."

"Very nice trick," Crixus said, though his tone was unreadable.

"One of the perks of being a daedric prince," Sheogorath continued."Is that you transcend sex. That way I can assume my old form, at least before you, son." The daedric prince laughed. "You know, I was the one who suggested to Vaermina that bit about this one's wife turning into a mare in his nightmares."

Eirik's eyes fell from the familiar face of the one on the throne to the feast. Where there had once been a feast fit for a king, there was now a massacre prepared in macabre mockery of a feast. The meats and breads were replaced with severed limbs, some of them completely skinned and seared, and piles of steaming entrails. The soups were filled with floating eyeballs, the chalices were filled with blood and the cheese were mounds of fat, pale and pink, still mingled with the blood of whatever poor soul had fallen prey to the lord of madness.

"What's wrong, Dragonborn?" Sheogorath asked Eirik. "You haven't touched a thing. Rather rude of you, you know. Go on, eat up!"

"But-But..." Eirik began, gesturing at the table in disgust.

"What?" Crixus asked. "It certainly looks good enough."

"Are you insane?" Eirik shouted across. At this the daedric prince laughed again.

"Now _there_ is a good question, laddie!" she said. "Is he the insane one..." She, or he, turned its dragon's eyes towards Eirik. "...or are _you_?"

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "I've..."

"Well, don't look at me!" Sheogorath said, holding up her/his left hand in an apologetic gesture. "I'm not the one with nightmares about being fucked in the arse by Molag Bal. You weren't even alive when that happened. None of your ancestors were involved in that messy affair."

Crixus chuckled. "I knew you were a b*tch, but seriously?"

"It _was_ real for me!" Eirik insisted angrily, then suddenly became deathly grim. "I...I still remember...his hands upon my neck. His spit upon my back."

"That's what they all say when they come to my realm," said Sheogorath. "The people that I touch. Oh, don't worry, I don't touch people the way Molag Bal does, just..." She slid her right hand on top of the head of the staff and patted it gently.

"'My precious little girl was abducted by trolls,'" she began, imitating a Nord woman's voice. "'That's the only explanation for her change of behavior. I could see it, as plain as anything!' That's what one Nord woman said when she came here less than seventy years ago. She had given her girl a sleeping potion and then baked her into a loaf of bread. The only way to get rid of changelings, she believed." Sheogorath smiled.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Eirik asked in disgust.

"As much as you enjoy killing your enemies in battle," said the daedric prince. "What's really the difference, though, between influencing a woman to kill her own child or to kill the child for her when she's grown?"

"You're sick and twisted and...and evil!" Eirik exclaimed.

"Why?" asked Sheogorath, leaning forward with a scrutinizing glare at Eirik. "I perform a necessary function in this world. You know, without me, you would never have music, the pure, sweet, lovely notes that your Mikael or Asteria or Malukah or any of those fools in Solitude ever wind up on their flutes and lutes and drums. But why do you think I am evil? Maybe _I_ am the one who is necessary while all you do is bring order to my chaos?" She leaned back and smirked. "You should seek out Mehrunes Dagon. He would love having you as his servant."

Eirik was practically fuming, while Crixus snickered at seeing the other Dragonborn so befuddled. But Sheogorath turned to him with disapproval in his/her menacing dragon's eyes.

"I have something to say to you, nonbeliever," she said.

"Whatever you say," Crixus sneered in disbelief.

"You can choose not to believe I am who I say I am," Sheogorath continued. "That won't matter much when you're eight miles above Tamriel with no one there to catch you as you fall to your death. Have you ever heard the sound of someone's bones breaking when they've hit the ground after falling from that height?"

"Typical daedric bullshit," Crixus retorted.

Sheogorath smiled. "Despite all of your bravado, I can disarm all of your disbelief with only one question. One question out of all the questions ever to be asked, and I know both the question and the answer." She cocked an eyebrow. "Do you want to know?"

"Humor me, O mighty one," Crixus chuckled.

"What does it mean that you and I are related?"

Crixus' smile faded from his face at this question. He looked at the dragon-eyed lord of chaos with a strange unease, as though this seemingly innocent, smart-arsed god knew more than he/she let on. Perhaps there was more to him/her than just insane laughs and cheese.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"What does it mean that you and I are related?"

"But you just said you were the Hero of Kvatch," Crixus said. "How is that possible? Didn't the Hero of Kvatch disappear from Tamriel in the third year of the Fourth Era? Almost two hundred years ago, there's no way that you're my mother."

"Whether Sheogorath was your mother or not is not for me to answer," said the daedric prince. "You're far too young for Valeria Vulcanis to have carried your fat arse, even when she was mortal: and she did not bear a son. But I didn't say I was your mother, I only asked what it meant that you and I are related."

"Who is that?" Crixus asked.

"She was the Hero of Kvatch," said Sheogorath. "Until she became the Lord of the Shivering Isles: namely, me."

"Uh-huh," Crixus said in an unreadable tone. "So now if you don't mind me asking, why are we here?"

"Who says you were here at all?" asked Sheogorath.

"Well, I can see this place," said Crixus. "And I see..."

"But you yourself refuse to believe the evidence of your eyes," said the daedric prince. "If it goes against your beliefs, or lack thereof, as the case may be. Therefore, by your own reasoning, I am not here. You've been dreaming this whole time in the prison of Blacklight: everything from this palace, this table, the food, me, the question, all of it just a fantasy of your warped mind. And soon you're going to wake up and discover that you're even madder than old Pelagius. A fine fellow, that Pelagius. I rather like how he banned death in the Empire: I should very much like to see him again. It's been too long." She/he smiled and then turned to Eirik, who was averting his eyes from the horrors upon the table.

"You, on the other hand," she began, then before Eirik's eyes turned back into the form of the old man. "You're much easier to persuade. You're much more willing to accept help, wherever it may come. I can give you that." Old Sheogorath lifted up one of the skulls from off the table and lifted out from the teeth a key on a chain.

"What is this?" Eirik asked.

"I'm giving you the key, so to speak," he said. "Now it's your choice to see if you will unlock the door. Though, I probably should warn you: you may not like what you see. Once it's opened, you can never go back."

"Open?" Crixus asked. "Are you saying you're helping us?"

"I've seen more than you know, son," Old Sheogorath said to Crixus. "I might as well enjoy myself while I can."

"Well, then," Crixus said, crossing his arms smugly. "If you're really who you say you are, why don't you help out more often?"

"Oh, that would be swell, wouldn't it?" asked Sheogorath. "Aye, maybe I'd turn Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius into chickens and see the two of them fight to the death for the fate of Skyrim in a cock-fight. Or maybe wave the Wabbajack over all the Dunmer in Skyrim and turn 'em into cheese and watch those Nords devour them hungrily, then wait until they're half-way through to turn them back and see that they've been gorging themselves on dark elf flesh. Or maybe you could get your head out of your fucking arse before you ask such stupid questions! I thought you were different!"

"Different than what, if I may ask?"

"Different than the rest of these mortals," said Sheogorath. "I might not have doted on Romana every day of her 'short' life, but I know about parents: I've had many come to my realm. And I know what they know, and what they know is that it's not right to have the parent coddle a child and hold their hand if they can do it themselves."

"That's bullshit," Crixus sneered.

"Is it, now?" asked Sheogorath, anger rising. "Maybe if you think you're so great to do everything yourself, I should remind you what happened the last time the Eight and One stopped caring for mankind. The last fucking Septim had to die." Sheogorath sighed, a look of remorse on his face. "Aye, Martin was a good man. Until he turned into a god, though: hardly sporting of him, considering that he never spoke to me ever again!"

"I don't have to listen to this," Crixus groaned.

"No, you're right, you don't," said Sheogorath. "And you know what else? You don't have to keep your head on your shoulders, eh? Or perhaps a few yards of entrails inside your gut, do you? Now, as I was saying, if the Eight or the princes of Oblivion had held the hand of every mortal race in Tamriel, you'd never get anywhere. You'd be a bunch of wee babies, crying at every change in the weather or over the change from day to night. You'd never learn to live and that would be a great disservice to you. It's like a parent with their child. They know the world is mad but they won't tell the child this from the very get-go: it would ruin their spirits. Much better for them to be raised with the illusion that the world is perfect and then find all of a sudden that it really doesn't make a lick of sense."

"So that's why you're helping us escape?" Eirik asked. "So that we find out that life...or whatever we've been fighting for all our lives...is futile? Is all life in vain?"

"Of course it is, that's the point," repeated Sheogorath. "But, as for your escape, I'm not helping you escape. All I've done is given you the key. _You_ will be the one who will have to decide whether to choose to take it or choose to reject it. So long, now, children."

* * *

**(AN: We've had Azura, Meridia, Hermaeus Mora, Molag Bal, Sanguine and Vaermina physically appear in these stories, so why not Sheogorath? ****He/she is very important to the future of this story, so that's one reason why to have the daedric prince of madness appear. Since my reviewers [all one of them] would probably not know, I'll give a bit of insight. The look of the Hero of Kvatch [who is not an Argonian] is based on the Spartan Queen Gorgo from _300_, as played by Lena Headey, who looks a little like Lydia [here's an interesting factoid: Headey also looks somewhat like Lauren McFall, who played Lydia in Kristen Nedopak's _Skyrim_ parody from YouTube, and who was the visual reference for Lydia in my stories], which is why I made that mention.)**

**(Of course, because I'm an idiot, I kept typing "Namira" instead of "Vaermina". I also had my brother proof-read the chapter and he found a lot wrong with it, so there's some more to edit. I don't know, it feels like any story I work on loses interest after more than ten words, not just this story. Maybe I'm going through a fourth-life crisis. I mean, I'm almost twenty-four and I've nothing to my name! Quorthon of _Bathory _had about five albums to his name by that age! Me? I was in a death metal band for eight months, we wrote very few songs, never played live, never recorded anything, and then broke up when the bassist [and owner of the rehearsal space, including the drum-set] moved. With my laptop dead, I can't record on my own and finding new players sucks. Job outlooks are also pretty poor [thank you VERY much, o most-beloved president!] and all I've been writing are fan-fics because nobody reads my original works and...oh hell, you don't care. As long as I put out more chapters, no fucks would be given by my reviewers [all one of you])  
**


	18. The Great Escape

**(AN: Sheogorath is mad. He is the mad god. That is part of the _Elder Scrolls_ lore. I feel like I wasn't doing him justice at all, like my version was either too tame or not crazy enough. There were more cells in the prison than just two: the only ones that are significant were Feryn Dreth's and Eirik and Crixus'. Also, _this_ again! While I don't promote racism, that is an integral part of the _Elder Scrolls_ lore. "Almighty" and "all-knowing" Michael Kirkbride wrote that into the lore with the much loved _Morrowind_, which has been picked up by each successive game because it makes the world feel more realistic. Personally, I hate these _Elder Scrolls_ fan-fics that go out of their way to gold-wash racism out of the _Elder Scrolls_ stories: you know, where the Dragonborn is going to Helgen and in his cart is Ulfric, Ralof, Lokir and Ulfric's Dunmer wife and Ralof's Altmer girlfriend [i shit you not, i've seen those stories]: to me, they are as unrealistic, OOC and out of place as those mods that put anime characters in _Skyrim_ or spam trees in every hold city!)**

**(To say that this cultural elitism does not exist is to literally rewrite the whole of _Elder Scrolls_ lore. Oh, you don't like racism in an _Elder Scrolls_ story? Fine then, why did the Falmer lead a genocide of the Atmoran settlers in Skyrim? Why did the Dwemer enslave the Falmer? Why did the Ayleids have human slaves? Why did the Dunmer enslave the Argonians? Do the Khajiit just not want to take over the world anymore? Why does Ulfric not trust the Dunmer, Argonians and Khajiit? And, of course, if there is no racism in Tamriel, why do the Thalmor want to take control over EVERYBODY?!)**

**(But I've spent too much time in Morrowind. I would say fan-service but since I only have one and a half reviewers, not so much. Mostly, I think, it was to have Sheogorath appear [daedra pretty much own Morrowind and the Dunmer do worship him, though he's not officially of the "True Tribunal"] and set up the question, which will all pay off once we get to "Dragon of the South." Because, like Russell T. Davies, I'm a fan of Chekhov's gun, the literary device where everything you put into the story has to have some importance. So far the only thing I've put into _this_ story which I regret putting there was the riekling cameo, but that was just because Solstheim has been pretty boring in my story so far and hasn't really had much action aside from Miraak, a few ash-spawn [if any] and were-bears and werewolves.)**

* * *

**The Great Escape**

Eirik awoke to the sound of commotion coming from the prison hall. There were no shouts or cries of alarm, for someone or something was swiftly dispatching the guards one by one. It was dark in the cell and Eirik could see nothing, and his hands were tied behind his back. On the other hand, Crixus was already on his way to the bars, gazing out at the glow of the torches hanging on the wall. Three guards lay on the ground and three figures were approaching from the darkness, though he had the distinct knowledge that there were more than just those three.

"Who's there?" Crixus asked.

"Don't you know a rescue when you see one?" a familiar voice asked. Eirik recognized the voice at once.

"Come on, get us out of here!" Crixus urged.

"Did you find the key?" Lydia asked.

"No," a brutish orc's voice replied. "None of the guards had it on them."

"Well, there's always one other way to break them out," Lydia said.

Eirik shuffled where he lay against the wall, trying to make himself heard or known in some way. At that moment something fell from out of his hands with a soft clink: too soft to be heard by Lydia and, possibly, Gorak and their rescuers, but not escaping the keen ears of Crixus. Turning around, he picked something up off the ground and held it up. Crixus laughed as he ran to the door and stuck it into the lock and began turning it around.

"That magnificent bastard!" Crixus exclaimed. "All of it in our heads, was it?"

At that point, several Redguards bearing torches entered the prison and their light flooded the hall. Eirik saw Lydia and Gorak standing there, but he also saw the giantess Eld hunched over, unarmed but still dangerous. The prison door swung open and Crixus laughed as he left the cell. On the other side, Eirik could hear Feryn Dreth, realizing that escape was possible, pleading for his rescue.

"You'll help me, won't you?" he asked. "Please, pretty snow-back. I'm with them! I'm one of them, I don't belong here."

"Give me your sword, housecarl," Crixus said to Lydia.

But she was not listening. She noticed Eirik and was on her way over into the cell. She removed the gag from her thane's mouth and then set about the shackles on his wrists.

"Lydia!" Eirik exclaimed at last. "You've come in the nick of time, we were about to be executed in the morning."

"It's already morning, my thane," Lydia added. "The bells of Blacklight already tolled twice. The old man showed me the swiftest way into town, as well as the way with fewest guards."

"The old man?" Eirik asked.

"A strange old fellow," Lydia stated. "Breton I think. Dammit! Crixus, we need the..."

But it was no avail trying to get Crixus' attention. He was off down the prison hall, unlocking cells right and left of those others of Shaddar's crew which had been captured by the Dunmer. Lydia swore under her breath then drew out her sword. In one swift motion, the chain had been cut and Eirik's hands were free, though his wrists still bore the tattered remains of the shackles. He pushed himself up and made his way out of the prison cell. The hall was already filling up with those freed members of Shaddar's crew. Gorak was rummaging through the desks near the front of the prison and Eld was hunched down, waiting for something to do.

"Wait," Eirik said, turning to Lydia. "The old man. Tell me about his eyes."

"There's no time," she replied. "We're escaping."

"What did they look like?"

"Seriously, my thane. Not the time to talk!"

"Lydia!"

"Do you_ really_ want to fight off all the Dunmer of Blacklight over an old man's eyes?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

"Just tell me already!"

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed. "They looked like dragon's eyes, okay? Are we done? Let's get out of here!"

Moments later, Crixus and Rayya came running back along the prison hall. From behind came Gorak, dragging a large chest from the warden's desk at the front of the prison. The orc did not wait for Crixus to try to pick the lock as he seized the lock in his hands and ripped it from the chest with three strong tugs. Inside Eirik saw Crixus' clothes.

"What about my armor?" Eirik asked.

"There may be other chests in the warden's quarters," Gorak replied. He then turned to Eld, who ripped open a door in the side of the dungeon wall by the warden's desk and the orc and giantess disappeared.

"Come on, now!" the Dunmer in the prison cried out as Crixus stowed the key into his pocket. "I'm on your side!"

Crixus turned to him, walked up to his cell, reached in behind the bars and, before Feryn Dreth could respond, seized his head from behind and slammed him face first into the bars, knocking him out. Behind him the other crewmen were running out to the warden's desk. Gorak appeared shortly from the door, dragging a chest out of the room: behind him came Eld, dragging two chests.

"We won't have a chance to escape with all this noise," Eirik stated.

"Don't worry, my thane," Lydia replied. "We managed to find out where they've taken the ship. Once we're all armed and liberated, getting there won't be a problem."

"As long as we hurry," Crixus added. "Someone is bound to find out that we've escaped."

While they were talking, one of the Dunmer prison guards started to stir from his unconscious state. Eirik noticed him rise to a kneeling position, draw out a dagger and lunge towards Gorak. But before the elf's blade could make contact, Eirik threw himself at the smaller dark elf, sending him straight onto the floor. He struck the elf several times in the face until he collapsed, nose broken and bleeding. Gorak grunted in approval but said nothing else as he made his way to one of the chests and tore open the lock. Inside Eirik saw his clothes and armor. As he went to search through the pile, a familiar voice called out to him. Turning around he saw Rayya standing there, with Shaddar behind her. In her hands was the great-sword of the Skaal.

* * *

**(AN: Bleh, this chapter felt like it took forever. I've actually got some rather shocking things happening, we just need to get out of Morrowind. For that reason, there probably won't be a chapter detailing everything that happens on the escape from Blacklight. The fans may love it, but it is so detached from everything going on in _Skyrim_ that even the people of Solstheim are like "dragons? bah, that's nothing!", which totally undermines the threat of Alduin if you play the _Dragonborn_ expansion before completing the main quest.)**

**(As for EUIV, I haven't played it, but I have played _Crusader Kings II_, which is made by the same company, same engine and is even backwards compatible with _Europa Universalis_. My two main problems I have faced in that game are not from without [with one exception from Sarkland, if you know what I mean] but from within. My own feudal lords are dicks and usually they, not the peasants, are the reason for about 100% of my problems in the game.)  
**


	19. Sharing Stories

**(AN: One of the many bad things to happen in this part of the story will take place in this chapter.)**

**(Just something I'd like to say before we continue here. The reason for the "ease" of their escape was because of a certain character and their affinity with the daedra. I won't say which one, but I've probably dropped sufficient hints for someone to guess. And if they can't, well I'll have to save the explanation for "The Dragon of the South.")**

* * *

**Sharing Stories  
**

The escape from the dungeons of Blacklight Keep was easier than Eirik and Crixus had thought it would be. They had reached the docks without any alarms being sounded and though the Red Dog was guarded by a small regiment of seven Dunmer guards, Shaddar's crew outnumbered them greatly. At Crixus' insistence, no survivors would be left to tell of their flight or send ships after them. Their throats were cut and their bodies thrown over the side of the ship.

When morning finally dawned, Eirik was gazing thoughtfully out across the bow of the Red Dog. The seas were choppy and the sky above covered in clouds. Whatever storm had blown them off course was now threatening to keep them once again from the Fatherland of Skyrim. Eirik considered shouting the clouds away when suddenly Crixus approached him from behind.

"You know," he said, disturbing Eirik from his thoughts. "You should really learn to pay attention to your surroundings. You never know when some assassin might be sneaking up behind you with a knife for your throat. And considering who you are and all the people you've managed to piss off, I would be sleeping with a knife of my own under my pillow if I were you."

Eirik did not immediately respond. Crixus leaned against the rail at Eirik's left and gazed out with him. He knew more than Eirik did what those dark clouds on the horizon entailed.

"Are you really upset about killing those guards?" Crixus asked. "I never thought you'd give a shite over the lives of a few damn dirty dark elves."

"And you say we Nords treat them like scum," Eirik commented.

"Which you do," Crixus interjected. "I speak only the truth and the truth is that they're ignorant savages who would rather die in this wasteland rather than accept Imperial rule out of some immature desire for autonomy. Just like you Nords."

"Do you really want to know what I'm thinking about?" Eirik asked.

"No."

"The ease of our escape," Eirik stated.

"What do you mean?"

"The customs of Morrowind can't be that much different than those of Skyrim," Eirik began. "Surely they must have had _some_ night watch who should have seen us as we were sneaking our way through the city streets."

"You noticed that, didn't you?" Crixus asked.

"Did you have some part to play in that?" Eirik queried.

"Yeah, I might have," Crixus smirked.

"Like?"

"Like you should know better than to ask me stupid questions," Crixus retorted.

Eirik sighed. "Should have known better than to expect answers from you."

"Yeah, you should have," Crixus retorted. "But I'll give you this warning free of charge: when we get back to that shite-hole of a country of yours, whatever happens you just keep your head down and don't make a scene."

"Just what exactly are you saying?" Eirik asked.

"I'm saying," Crixus continued. "That there are some things that just _have_ to happen for the greater good. And I know how you're like, which is why I'm telling you now instead of later."

"What do you mean, 'some things just have to happen?'"

"What's going to happen is going to happen," Crixus groaned. "And there's nothing you or I can do about it. The sooner you accept it, the better everything will be for everyone." He looked towards the clouds. "You just need to know to keep your head down and weather out the storm."

"What are you talking about?" Eirik asked.

"This storm that's coming up," Crixus said evasively, pointing towards the clouds. "You need to get below deck. It'll be a hard journey back to Skyrim."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "I can shout this storm into Aetherius."

"Captain's orders, not mine," Crixus said, placing his arm around Eirik's shoulder. "That's why I came to find you. He said we have to get below."

"'We?'" Eirik asked, shrugging off Crixus' arm.

"He ordered that I go below deck as well," Crixus grumbled. "I told him that I've had experience on the high seas with this ship, but he thinks I'm too valuable to risk being swept overboard." He sighed.

"This is madness!" Eirik retorted. "I can shout down any storm that dares break over us! Just let me..."

"Captain's orders!" Crixus repeated.

Eirik reluctantly relented and followed Crixus back below deck. As they were passing down, the hatch leading to the top deck was locked behind them. He returned to the cargo room, where Lydia was awaiting him, and told her everything that transpired top deck. Lydia listened intently but said nothing until Eirik told her about Crixus' sudden evasiveness and caginess about things to come.

"I don't know, my thane," she said. "I feel like you had it right all along. This might be a trap."

"If it were a trap," Eirik said. "He should have sprung it by now. As it is, I feel like too much relies on chance to have been premeditated. How could Crixus have known that there would be a letter for me from Frea asking me to come to Solstheim?"

"Maybe that wasn't part of the trap," Lydia suggested. "Crixus seems to be clever enough, he probably used that to give you some kind of belief that this whole mission was genuine."

Eirik groaned. "I'm tired, Lydia. I can't wait to see Mjoll again. Too long we've been apart."

"It wasn't really that long, was it?" Lydia asked.

"Feels longer," Eirik stated.

"You know," Lydia began. "You two barely knew each other for three months before you decided to get married. I wonder if, once this war is over, you two will realize you have less in common than you thought."

"What, are you wagering that she'll leave me?"

"Not at all," Lydia replied. "I just think that you two might have...rushed into getting married."

"Lydia?"

"Yes, my thane?"

"Shut up."

Lydia groaned. "Then what do I do while we're stuck here below deck?"

* * *

The Fifth Day of Sun's Dawn passed beneath the deck of the Red Dog without incident. Eirik and Lydia shared a meager meal then wrapped themselves in their cloaks and tried to keep themselves dry as the afternoon lagged on lazily before them. The waves beat against the hull of the ship, slowly rocking them to sleep. It was one of the few times that Eirik was able to sleep as long as he desired, for when he awoke it was already past dawn, though there was no dawn in the overcast sky above deck. Like before, the day dragged onward without so much as a sign or sound from above that they were nearing Dawnstar.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Crixus made his way to the cargo hold and found Lydia and Eirik lying about with seemingly nothing to do.

"Bored already?" Crixus asked.

"We should have been there by now," Eirik stated.

"It's this damn storm," Crixus complained.

"Then you should have let me clear the sky for you!" Eirik insisted.

Crixus did not reply, but sat down on one of the barrels between them.

"Well," he began. "Since we're both stuck down here with nothing to do, why don't we ask each other questions, eh? I'll start off with an old favorite. You're in town and the baker gives you a sweet-roll. You go into an alley to eat it but are surrounded by three thugs. The leader demands your sweet-roll or else they'll beat you up and take it. What do you do?"

"Give it to him," Eirik said. "You can always come back with friends and make them pay for what they've done."

Crixus snickered. "What about you, housecarl?"

"Throw the sweet-roll on the ground and step on it," Lydia replied. "Let them know that you're ready to kick their asses!"

Crixus laughed. "I would have thrown it up. Would have given me time to attack their leader while they're looking at the sweet-roll. Come on now, Eirik, your turn."

"Can't we talk about something important?" Eirik asked.

"So you can resort to b*tching me out like always?" Crixus retorted. "Come on, we can enjoy some small-talk, can't we? Does every conversation have to be grim and serious?"

"We are at war," Eirik said. "There's little point in being merry."

"Might as well, eh?" Crixus replied. "We have the time for it. Here, let me share with you a little song common among seafaring folk. Quite an old tune, also."

_Ho hey, Sweet Lady of Wayrest  
Ho hey, sweet lady of mine_  
_I'll see you again  
Yes, I'll see you again  
Sweet Lady of Wayrest so fine_

Eirik chuckled, then turned to Crixus, cleared his throat and replied.

_There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red  
Who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead_

"Anything but that!" Crixus retorted. "If I have to sit in one more tavern and hear some skin-and-bones Nord milk-drinker sing that song, some heads are gonna roll."

"I've got nothing," Eirik said, shaking his head. "I'm not much of a bard."

"Torgrim is," Crixus added. "He's got a voice like a living mountain. Asteria taught him how to sing when they were in Markarth."

"Who is Asteria?" Eirik asked. "I heard Sheogorath mention that name along with Mikael and Malukah. Who is Asteria?"

"She's from Chorrol," Crixus stated. "A traveling minstrel who happened to cross Torgrim's path on his way to Markarth. They had a little bit of a run-in with the locals, but nothing he couldn't handle. I think she might still be there, singing and playing in the court of Jarl Igmund."

"How many people do you know?" Eirik asked.

"Quite a few, actually," Crixus said proudly. "You've already met Jordis and Eola. Jordis was placed in my service as a gesture of gratitude from Queen Elisif for saving her life from an assassin."

"She's not queen yet," Eirik replied.

"Maybe, but she will be," Crixus retorted.

"You know," Eirik brought up. "Since we're on the subject of small talk, why not tell me more about yourself?"

Crixus scoffed. "Believe me. The less you know, the safer you are. And let's just leave it at that."

"But what did he mean by you and he being related?" Eirik asked. "Are you saying that you're related to a daedric lord?"

"Could be possible," Crixus stated. "You know, Serana told me about Lamae Beolfag, the first vampire. She could be considered a child of the daedra, so it's not impossible."

"You're avoiding the issue again."

"For good reason."

"I've heard you mention your brother before," Eirik said. "Back at Driftshade Refuge, when we took the fight to the Silver Hand. And then on Solstheim, Ancarion said something about you and your parents and you killed him for it. And now Sheogorath, the mad god or whatever he called himself, said that it means something that you two are related. I think I need some answers now!"

Crixus was quiet for a moment, seeming a bit uncomfortable with answering before at last he spoke.

"Valerius Crixus was a city guard in Anvil," Crixus began. "He...married a member of the Maro family, who have ties to the Penitus Oculatus. He wasn't originally from Anvil. The Crixus line goes back about to Augurius Crixus, who fought in the great Stormcrown Interregnum. He was granted land in Bruma but circumstances led to its loss. His son Aleppo I was even less studious with his means and ended his life in poverty. But it was his son, Cicero, who really increased my family's name. He married a well-to-do widow who gave him a son, Aleppo II. No finer member of my family has there been than my grandfather: he was the one who moved the family to Anvil." He sighed. "The old man died before Titus Mede took the throne. Perhaps he was fortunate not to see the Empire fall the way it has."

"Doesn't really tell me much about them," Eirik replied.

"Well, what about you, then?" Crixus retorted. "Do tell me the great stories of how many trees your ancestors felled!"

"We weren't always woodsmen," Eirik said. "My paternal ancestor Sigurd the Old is said to have lived a hundred years and fought in Bruma against the daedric hordes in the Oblivion Crisis."

"That's what everyone says," Crixus sneered. "Same with the Hero of Kvatch. Name, face, race and sex change with each person telling the story."

"Sigurd bore seven sons," Eirik continued. "The seventh was my ancestor Ingvar the Mighty. They said that he must have been a giant, for he was eight feet tall and could crush a man's skull with his bare hands. On a journey to Solstheim, he dragged the drekkar to shore with his bare-hands."

"Typical Nord embellishment," Crixus sneered once more.

"If it makes you feel better," Eirik retorted. "His son was more after what _you_ think we Nords are: brigands and outlaws. His son, my grandfather Thore, was the one who settled down in Falkreath and began his trade as a woodsman. That's where my father was before he joined the Legion."

"Your father was in the Imperial Legion?" Crixus asked.

"He fought in the Great War against the Dominion," Eirik retorted.

"I wager he's turning in his grave to see you," Crixus sneered. "His only son, a rebel, a turncoat and traitor!"

"And what of your father?" Eirik retorted. "Would he be accepting of you?"

"He would be _proud_ of me!" Crixus retorted, rising to his feet and beating his chest in a very atypical 'Nordic' fashion. "Because I'm serving my country, unlike you!" He sat back down and then looked at the ceiling. For a moment he hesitated before he hung his head, threw off his hood and ran his hand over his shaven head.

"What was his name? Your father."

"Bjorn Thoresson."

"You're shitting me!" Crixus exclaimed. "Second Auxiliary Caliga Bjorn was your father?"

"You knew my father?" Eirik asked.

"Knew him! I fought alongside him at the Battle of the Red Ring!" Crixus chuckled. "That old bastard didn't tell me he had a son. Of course I was just a boy at the time, barely even nineteen. Wasn't exactly on my mind at the time."

Eirik paused, unable to speak. Surely the Nine were mocking him by throwing into his path the most disagreeable person in all of Tamriel who just happened to know his father. All he knew of his father was a broken old man who had greeted him with pride in the Hall of Shor but last year. Was Crixus leading him on with this pretense of amazement? The way he spoke was unlike anything he had ever seen from Crixus: if he had seen the look on anyone else, he would have sworn that it was amazement and even interest.

"I'll never forget what he said to me," Crixus said soberly, gazing at the lantern swaying from the ceiling with the crashing of the waves. "There I was, an optimistic nineteen year old nothing, on a dangerous mission to fight the good fight for the greater glory of the Empire. And there was this old Nord in Imperial armor. Mela always warned me about them: dumb, drunken, murderous brutes. He asked me why I was fighting. I...I never told anyone else in the Legion about Venerius, they usually just laughed me to scorn because I was so young and inexperienced. So I...I said that I was fighting for the glory of the Empire." Crixus rose up from the barrel on which he sat, speaking now more to himself than to the others.

"I never thought of it until now just how much he must have been changed by the war, how much it had broken him. He talked about all the men who had died at his side. He told me...he told me why he fought: to protect the ones he loved. He said that was reason enough to give every last drop of his blood and..." Crixus paused. "It was the first time I knew that I was in the right place." Crixus sighed, then turned back to Eirik.

"And then the incident at Red Dog Pass," he said. "After that bloody day when we returned home, I realized that he was right. All of the blood we had shed had been in vain."

Suddenly there was a loud pounding sound coming from down the hall of the ship. Voices could be heard and Eirik distinctly heard the sound of one voice he recognized in particular from the incident at Ivarstead last month. He turned to Crixus with renewed horror in his eyes.

"What have you done?" he asked.

"What was necessary," Crixus replied.

* * *

**(AN: Some interesting character development in this chapter, to say the least. We also get some hints at Crixus' past, as well as some genealogy stuff which will be important for the big reveal later on in this story. Remember to review please)  
**


	20. Morning Star's Riddle

**(AN: And there you are, the _Morrowind_ hipster reviewer. I knew it wouldn't be long before I got one on my story [i had one constantly on "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", so i knew it was only a matter of time]. My brother would like you right well, as he's started playing _Morrowind_ and has become hooked on it [racist Dunmer are okay to him because, after all, POCs can be racist all they want and get away with it because they say - they actually say - that they're not white and only white people are racists]. But instead of starting another _Morrowind_ vs. _Skyrim_ argument, I want to answer some of your questions. Maybe I was off with 'regiment', but I always saw a legion as 3,000. As far as Crixus goes, he doesn't wear his armor all the time because he stated in "The Dragonborn and the Lioness" that if he is noticed in armor with Eirik, his life will be forfeit. Also, his purpose in Skyrim is not just to join the Legion and kill Nords [that's just why he likes doing it]. But I can't say what his real purpose is because it is not yet time to reveal that.)**

**(Also, before I go on, _Wetoos_, let me ask you something: what do you think of Michael Kirkbride's _C0DA_? My brother just plain ignores that it exists [even though he, like all the other _Morrowind_ hipsters, loves everything Kirkbride did in _Morrowind_ and, like the _Star Wars_ fans with Kershner or the _Megadeth_ fans/_Metallica_ "fans" with Dave Mustaine, believes that everything good about _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ came from Kirkbride and Kirkbride alone while all the bad stuff - playdoh heads, dragons, "HD dirt", etc. - was not his fault]. But from what I've seen, all the other _Elder Scrolls_ fan-boys - many of them _Morrowind_ hipsters - love it without question because...you guessed it, Kirkbride did it. Personally, it has no bearing on my story except what it said about the Empire in one little foot-note in its confusing, pseudo-existential, pompous mass of incongruent text.)**

**(Last words: when I say "_Morrowind_ hipster", I am, of course, referring to the bulk of _Elder Scrolls _fans who believe that _Morrowind_ was the Holy Grail of role-playing games, Vivec's gift to Mer-kind, the knees of the bees, the answer to the question "what is the meaning of life?" and that everything that came after it - namely _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ - are pure dog-shit worse than Lou Reed's last album and to be hated more than anything and anyone. I personally think that _Morrowind_ is like _Clerks _and a good deal of indie movies: pretentious and not really that interesting. Now that I've pissed everybody off, on with the story.)**

* * *

**Morning Star's Riddle**

A bucket of cold water was thrust into Eirik's face, yanking him unceremoniously out of sleep. Where was he? The walls were familiar. Was he back inside the prison of Solitude so many months ago when the Thalmor had captured him? It was all coming back to him now. There were no Thalmor this time, only Imperial soldiers. Crixus had led him into a trap. The Red Dog had skirted past Dawnstar all together and landed instead in the harbor of Solitude. By the time the sound of Imperial _caligae_ boots was heard banging on the door to the lower decks, it was too late. There was nowhere to run and Eirik was bound before he could utter a word in the Dragon tongue.

As he tried to breathe through the soaked gag about his mouth, Eirik heard two familiar voices arguing just a little farther down the hall. One was very young and timid-sounding, the other was harsh and cultured, a Colovian general.

"I don't see what danger there could be, good general," the young voice said. "He's been bound and gagged."

"He's a rebel," the other voice replied. "And he's stubborn and refuses to acknowledge when he's been defeated, just like the rest of you Nords. There's no point in keeping him here if we can't interrogate him. Send him to the block where he belongs!"

"No, General Tullius!" the first voice said sharply. "He is not to be harmed in any way."

"Since when do we offer niceties to rebels, Elisif?" Tullius retorted. "Remember, he's in league with the man who killed your husband, High King Torygg."

"Don't remind me, general!" Elisif retorted.

"Listen, we both know that you're still inconsolable over the death of your husband," General Tullius continued. "Seeing him will only remind you of Ulfric and what he's done. You go back to the Blue Palace and let me handle this one."

"I'm fine, general."

"No, you're not."

"I said I'm fine!"

"There's no point in keeping him here!" Tullius retorted. "If you're not going to kill him yet, at least let the High Justicar deal with him. I'm sure he'll have some way of drawing the truth out of him, if rebels are even capable of speaking the truth. Just go back to the Palace, I'll have Thelgil brought in right away."

"I want to speak with him, general!"

"You don't need to speak with him, Elisif."

"Just who is in charge here, general? Am I not to be the High Queen of Skyrim?"

There was a pause until at last the General spoke.

"Only if I say so. I don't know what kind of pillow-talk you and Crixus share, or what he's done to you, but need I remind you that Skyrim belongs to the Empire? If you continue to fight me, then I will have no choice but to withdraw my troops and return to Cyrodiil. I wonder how long your claim to the throne of Skyrim would last if the Empire chose to remove their support."

"Is that a threat, general?"

"It's the truth. Last year this gods-forsaken country was in a dead-lock between loyalists and rebels. Now Windhelm is besieged and it's only a matter of time before we drag that monster out of his hiding place. The Empire made this possible, therefore you have an obligation to uphold. As long as you remember who brought you this far, there should be no problems in the future."

"Of course, general. I...I know you've always been a great help to us. I only wish to speak to the prisoner."

"Know that I disapprove."

"I am still Jarl in my own hold, I can do as I please."

There was nothing else heard for a while, giving Eirik a moment to think about what he had just heard. Windhelm was under siege. Had it really become that bad? Of course it was, he knew it without even having to think about it very much. Falkreath and Riften hadn't surrendered the office of Jarl from Maven and Siddgeir, whose pockets were filled with Imperial coin. The Empire had failed to act upon the stipulations of the treaty he had helped sign - or at least helped to arbitrate, since he was not there for the actual signing. Of course they did not fail to seize the opportunity to take Dawnstar, which could not be contested as it had been given to the Empire at the negotiating table. Eirik realized now that he had done more to harm the cause of the Stormcloaks than to help it with the peace treaty, for while he was in Sovngarde battling Alduin, the Empire was preparing to end the war with one fell swoop.

Now they had control of every hold in Skyrim save for Windhelm and Winterhold. He had been to Winterhold once and there was nothing there: just a few worn down buildings and a mage's college that half of Skyrim blamed for the destruction of the city. It was inconsequential and the Empire chose rather to make their direct move towards Windhelm, besieging the city. But even as he thought of this, Eirik wondered why Elisif and Tullius spoke in such hostile tones. The last time he had seen her, she seemed to be a wide-eyed, demurring little child who deferred to Tullius in all matters. Furthermore, his mind was sent into a swirl over what he had heard Tullius say regarding Crixus. While he was not as skilled in the art of love-making as others, Eirik guessed what pillow-talk meant and once again he recalled Crixus lashing out against Ancarion when he was called 'concubine.'

Eirik's thoughts were suddenly interrupted when two Imperial soldiers approached the cell and unlocked the door. Once inside, they dragged Eirik up onto his feet as two other Imperial soldiers entered the cell, both of them bearing torches. At last there entered Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude. Though Eirik had seen her before, he did not realize just how young she really was. She seemed as lithe as a wood elf and not yet of the age of twenty. Her red-golden hair reminded him of Mjoll, but her blue eyes, wide with naivete, dispelled any similarities from Eirik's mind at once.

"I've heard that you may be the Dragonborn of legend," Elisif spoke. Eirik nodded in affirmation. "Such a pity that you side with brigands and murderers."

Into Eirik's mind flashed once again what he had seen in Sovngarde, speaking to the shade of Torygg. He moved his hands and found that they were bound behind his back and the guards who held his arms on either side clenched him even tighter when he tried to move.

"Crixus spoke very highly of you," Elisif continued. "Though why for I can't understand. He asked me to keep you here in the dungeons, bound as you are for your own protection and for ours. He knows as well as I do what you would do if you could speak, just like your Ulfric Stormcloak." Eirik said nothing.

"I didn't come here to get information out of you," she went on. "There's nothing you can give me that will make any difference. The end of the war is drawing near. All I want is to look at the face of the man who chooses a murderer over his true and lawful ruler."

The young woman held Eirik in her gaze for a while. Eirik could see doubt in her eyes, which shifted periodically away from his own. What she could possibly be thinking, other than hatred, he could not guess. But for a brief moment he saw a hint of the sadness in her eyes, the sadness of one parted from their lover. He knew what it was like to be separated from a loved one and wished that he could speak, tell her what Torygg had said to tell her. But he was gagged and there was nothing he could say or do to ease her suffering.

Elisif said nothing, but she looked away and gasped. The two guards at her left and right turned to attend her, but she brushed them away and walked out of the cell. As Eirik was thrown back onto the ground and the gate locked behind the exiting guards, he pondered Elisif's departure. He didn't exactly think of himself as physically imposing, yet the way she turned away from him suggested that she found being in his company uncomfortable.

* * *

Night had fallen, but Eirik the Dragonborn Bjornsson was not asleep. On his return to Skyrim he was imprisoned and sent to Helgen to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A few months later he was a prisoner to Miraak's power, and then mere weeks later he was imprisoned in the dungeons of Solitude by the Empire under the Thalmor's orders, awaiting execution once again. Then after the Dragon crisis, he was imprisoned in Blacklight then escaped only to be imprisoned once again in the dungeons of Solitude. Were the gods still on his side?

It was at this point when he heard voices speaking down the prison corridor. He wanted to move closer to the sound but he guessed that they would notice his movement and instead remained very still. If anyone looked in on him, let them think that he was asleep and unaware of what was going on in the cell. He heard two voices speaking to each other. One was obviously a Nord, thick accented and a little crude. The other was disturbingly familiar: dark in timbre yet oily smooth.

"I've heard you've been making quite a scene down here," the smooth voice said.

"I want my money," the Nord replied.

"You've already been paid for what you did," the smooth voice replied.

"You promised me half after I did what you asked of me," said the Nord. "Well, me and the boys did that alright, just as you asked. Nobody suspected nothing."

"There was no such promise made," said the smooth voice. "You received your payment and there ends the matter."

"Well, that ain't exactly gonna happen, will it now?" asked the Nord. "If I'm not paid in full, I'll talk."

"What did you say?" asked the smooth voice, his tone becoming suddenly threatening.

"What, them elvish ears ain't heard me proper, goldenrod?" the Nord asked. "If you don't give me the other half of my share, I'll talk. I'll tell them everything. I wonder what the military governor would think when he hears that the new Thalmor ambassador, justicar or whatever you are by Shor's cock, hired a band of thugs to dress up like Stormcloaks and sack ol' Rorikstead."

In the tense, pregnant pause that followed the Nord's statement, Eirik's mind rushed immediately back to Ivarstead. He had heard something about Stormcloaks attacking Rorikstead but did not believe it until they said that they had evidence. Was this their evidence? A bandit hired by the Thalmor to impersonate to sack the town of Rorikstead while disguised as Stormcloak rebels? Once again his mind flashed back to Elenwen's office what seemed like a lifetime ago, before he met Mjoll...

* * *

_The guard was out of the room and he had limited time. He carefully opened the chest and reached for the stack of folios. There were at least three of them here but no names on the leather covers. Perhaps the Thalmor didn't trust their own secret documents to have titles embossed across the covers. One of these had to show where the last Blade agent was hiding. He opened the first one, saw the name 'Delphine' at the top of the first page and stowed it aside. He pulled the next one and saw the name 'Ulfric Stormcloak' at the top and placed it next to the 'Delphine' dossier._

_At last he found what he sought. The top of the page was entitled 'Thalmor dossier on Esbern, Loremaster of the Blades'. He looked down the page, quickly scanning it for any words of importance. He saw 'Falinesti', 'Akaviri', 'Cloud Ruler Temple', another disturbing remark about the 'First War against the Empire' and nothing important about the dragons. Delphine's suspicion, it seemed, was false: the Thalmor seemed to know as little about the return of the dragons as anyone else. Then at the bottom he saw it._

_'We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften.'_

_He closed the folder and greedily shoved it underneath his arm. Riften. He had heard of the name spoken briefly by some of the guards here and there in Whiterun and Windhelm, but hadn't gotten the chance to go there and visit. They said that it was a beautiful hold but a rotten city, filled to the ends with thieves, brigands and corrupt officials: certainly an odd hiding place for a master of lore, unless that was his point, to choose the least likely hiding place. He took the other folio and placed it next to Esbern's dossier, eager to show it to Delphine as soon as he returned to Riverwood.  
_

_His eyes fell upon the last folio. Having recently joined the Stormcloaks, a desire came over him to know what the Thalmor knew about his leader and possibly next High King. He had heard more than a few less than desirable things about Ulfric since his arrival in Skyrim, even down to the very moment of his interrupted execution in Helgen with practically everyone in town cheering for the Stormcloaks to die as the headsmen took off Gunmar's head as well as the unanimous jeers and urges to hurry Rogvir's execution when he entered Solitude. There was more to Ulfric Stormcloak than just what he had seen that day at Helgen, he could feel it in his bones. The urge to open the folio at last overcame him and he, heedless of the danger, opened it up and gazed in horror at what was written therein.  
_

_'Thalmor dossier on Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak rebellion_

_Status: asset (uncooperative), dormant, Emissary level approval  
Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran  
Background: Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact._

_Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the Civil War proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: the coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be..._

* * *

Eirik was so deep in his memories that he almost failed to hear when the silence broke as the smooth voice - doubtlessly an elf due to the Nord's statement - finally replied.

"Who would believe an ignorant Nord bandit over a renowned member of the Aldmeri Dominion?" he mocked. "You're nothing, an insignificant snow-back, a pile of stinking refuse. Every noble and worthy thing that your precious Empire is built off was stolen from _my_ people! Who would ever listen to _you_?"

"Come on, goldenrod," the Nord retorted. "Is all that talk about how you elves is better than everyone else just a bunch of hot air?"

"There is no need to fear anything from you, snow-back," sneered the elf. "I signed the order for your execution before coming down here. Enjoy the last moments of your worthless life, _human_."

The sound of boots walking down the hall was drowned out by taunts and mocking cries from the bandit as Eirik guessed that the elf had said all that there was to be said. As he turned back into the darkness of his cell, he began to go deeper into his own thoughts. What had horrified him so many months ago in the desk of Elenwen in the Thalmor Embassy was now coming back to haunt him. The Thalmor's whole agenda against the worship of Talos seemed like nothing compared to this. There was now no denying the fact that the Civil War was only the prelude to another war between the Empire of Tamriel and the Aldmeri Dominion of Alinor. What he had seen in that dossier proved that the Thalmor wanted Skyrim embroiled in a civil war which would leave one of the Empire's strongest provinces - and the only land uniting Cyrodiil and High Rock - so weakened that overthrowing the Empire would be child's play.

It all fell into place. The Dominion may have lost the Battle of the Red Ring, but in essence they had won the Great War. They got everything that they wanted: disbanding of the Blades by means of their execution, outlawing of Talos worship and annexation of the southwestern regions of Hammerfell. The Empire was sufficiently weakened and the Civil War only made Skyrim, and by association the Empire, weaker. The peace treaty which he thought had done absolutely nothing he saw had truly done nothing at all. The Thalmor did not even suffer a single loss from the negotiations despite Elenwen being evicted from the summit. They orchestrated a bandit attack on Rorikstead disguised as a raid by the Stormcloaks violating the treaty to get the Civil War back into action. But in one point the Thalmor had failed to consider: the tenacity and cunning of the Imperial Legion. Surely after a year of fighting, the Legion wanted a swift end to the conflict and was about to bring that end swiftly with Windhelm under siege. Now not only would the long-term threat, the second war with the Dominion, not be fought on the terms of the Empire or the people of Skyrim and not the Thalmor, the immediate threat, the Civil War, would end with Skyrim being forced back under the yoke of Imperial appeasement of Elvish whims. It all fell into place and it all meant nothing.

Eirik the Dragonborn realized that he had utterly failed.

* * *

**(AN: Lots of stuff happens in this chapter, including a flash-back even though I said I wouldn't do that a lot in this story. Well, I cheated here because, like in Blacklight, Eirik is gagged, bound and imprisoned so there's not a lot of anything he can do except listen. So I wanted to give him at least _something_ to do that wasn't just listening and inner thought. We also got a look at our villain, whom we haven't seen since the first chapter of this story. Also, there is a bit of a dynamic about the boring, spine-less straw-woman that the Empire chose to be the High Queen just because she's "young and naive" and "easily controlled" - kind of like Padme in _The Phantom Menace_ who was easily manipulated into voting Chancellor Valoruum out of office and is therefore as guilty for the downfall of the Republic, the fall of the Jedi and the rise of the Empire as Jar Jar Binks. In the story proper, she has no personality beyond grieving widow, she just does whatever Tullius tells her to do and even ass-hole Erikur says so [by the way, he won't ever be Jarl of Solitude or High King]. The peace treaty quest shows just how spine-less she is, but that will change somewhat in this story, and, as I've hinted, it has something to do with Crixus.)  
**

**(We also got to see something that I'm sure all my reviewers will either find no problem with or actually applaud me for finally showing it: racist Nords. See, nobody in the _Elder Scrolls_ fandom cares that Dunmer are racists and slavers, they applaud the Altmer for being racist because "they're hot" [one of the reasons i modeled Ondolemar after Tom Hiddleston and Thelgil, our main villain, after benedict c*mberb*tch], but if a Nord, a white man, shows any kind of animosity towards anyone different than him, then all Nords are ignorant scum who don't deserve the right to religious freedom or even self government or, in the case of the elf-lovers, even life at all. Of course in my story, which tries to balance out the heinous anti-Nord bias the game developers [like Kirkbride] had in the game by showing that Dunmer are racist, which is something that even _Morrowind_ shows, if I show anyone else being racist or elitist, somebody throws a fit because "Dunmer can't be racist!" or "Imperials can't be racist!")**


	21. Oracle of Azura

**(AN: I've got plenty of Resist Fire potions for the flames that my decisions in this story have received/may receive. Surprisingly, that last chapter received very few.)**

**(Nevertheless, some big things are going to happen in the next few chapters. How far am I willing to take this story? Well, there won't be any one hundred and twelve chapters like in "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", that was a challenge that I feel I just could not top again. Maybe I'll go half way and give this story fifty-six chapters [lol]. I do have a few ideas to go along with in this story, but I might not even need fifty-six chapters to finish this story. Just whatever does it.)**

* * *

**Oracle of Azura**

Eirik awoke some time in the dead of night - though which night he knew not for sure. The sound of keys clinking in the lock of his cell door roused him from sleep. As he opened his eyes, he saw a hooded figure clad in dark robes enter into the cell and stand for a moment, gazing down upon him.

"Why?" a woman's voice, seasoned with age, asked softly in an accent that was decisively non-Nordic. Eirik could not answer. "Why does the Queen of Dawn and Dusk mock my people by choosing _you_ as her champion?"

A knife was drawn and Eirik pushed himself up against the wall as best he could. His hands and mouth were bound, but his feet were still of use. The figure knelt down and held up their right hand in a gesture of peace. The knife was then brought up with the left hand and severed the gag on Eirik's mouth.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am a priestess of the daedric prince Azura," the woman said from beneath her hood. "I am your escape to freedom. Turn over now, let cut your bindings."

Eirik turned over as the sound of the woman's knife cutting at the bound cords on his wrists was heard.

"How did you get in here?" Eirik asked.

"The mistress I serve appeared to me in a dream," the woman continued. "It is the first time she has appeared to me in a great many count of years. She told me where to find you, she told me how to get into this prison and that I should rescue you."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"You are Azura's champion," the woman said begrudgingly. "She wants you free. That should be enough for you."

"What did you mean by what you said when you came in here?" Eirik asked.

"You should know, snow-back," sneered the woman.

Eirik's wrists snapped free from the bonds and he turned around to face his rescuer. The light was dim but Eirik could see a soft gleam of red beneath her hood.

"You're an elf," Eirik stated.

"And you're rather stupid, even for you snow-backs," she replied. "Now get up, we must escape this place before the guards discover us. It would be just like Azura to lead me here only to leave me to my fate."

The Dunmer woman rose up and walked out of the cell while Eirik followed after her. They were now walking down the dungeon hall to the entry way, a flight of stairs leading to the upper levels of Castle Dour. They quietly made their way up and out of the castle and then ran westward out of the castle courtyard and down a long stone ramp into the city square of Solitude.

"We're almost out," she whispered. "Stay close to me."

"Why are you doing this?" Eirik asked.

"It is Azura's will," she replied in a hushed voice.

"But you seem to harbor ill-will towards Azura," Eirik replied.

"Still I must follow her," said the elf. "It was her will that I lead my people out of Morrowind almost two hundred years ago when the Red Mountain erupted, even though we came to this shit-hole of a country. Had I closed my ears to her commands, we would have all died, buried under centuries of ash..." She scoffed. "I trust that would have been to your liking, no?"

"What? No!" Eirik retorted. "You don't even..."

"Lower your voice!" the elf hissed, then turned back to face Eirik. "You Nords are all alike: oath-breakers, murderers, bandits and traitors. I was there when Torygg's great-grandsire gave us permission to live in both Solstheim and Skyrim. I was there when the Decree of Monument was written, and I have seen your people go back on their word."

"Is that why your people support the Empire?" Eirik asked.

"_Your_ Empire?" she laughed. "All they have given my people are promises, empty words without meaning. Many of my people living in Cyrodiil died in the Great War, the Dominion spared none who stood under the banner of the Red Diamond. But when the war ended, the Empire abandoned them: they did nothing to stop the Sons of Skyrim from driving the Dunmer out of Bruma and have no interest in ending the suffering of my people in your precious city of Ysgramor."

"Isn't that why they're fighting a war?" Eirik asked.

"They fight this war because of your chief elf-killer, Ulfric Stormcloak," she replied. "He dared to defy the Empire and so they retaliated. Once he's dead, their legions will simply go back to Cyrodiil and leave my people to their fates."

"I'm sorry, I haven't..." Eirik began, but was interrupted.

"You didn't know?" she asked. "You've not treated Dunmer the way Ulfric does? I suppose you'd also say that not all you Nords are like the ones in Windhelm. Bah! One Nord alone mistreating the Dunmer is reason enough to drive the rest of you white-skinned, jaundice-haired apes into the sea to drown to death where you belong. And believe me, it _will_ happen. For too long my people have suffered silently under the yoke of Nordic oppression. You know not how many times I have listened in quiet sorrow as pilgrims came to the shrine of Azura, begging the Mistress of Twilight with tears in their eyes to bring justice upon Uflric and his band of hate-filled bigots."

They paused just at the foot of the steps leading into the town center of Solitude. Eirik looked west towards the main gate of the city while his rescuer looked east. The sight of several of the guards of the city patrolling the gate holding torches aloft made him wary. Then he noticed that the elf was not moving and turned to her.

"For too long," the elf woman continued. "My people have born the yoke of oppression from _your_ kind in silence. But no more. They cannot stand for this any longer, and they _will_ not! If Ulfric wins this war..." She scoffed. "..._if_ Ulfric wins this war, he will find another one on his hands. The Dunmer know that he has no love for us or the Empire and House Hlaalu, or what's left of it hiding in Windhelm, will not fare well if he drives the Empire out of Skyrim. My people know this and they know that the Empire will not help the Dunmer in Skyrim: we must help ourselves."

"So why are you here?" Eirik asked. "Why are you doing this if you hate Nords so much?"

"Only the Mistress of Dawn and Twilight," she continued. "Knows why you, of all people, were chosen to be her champion. But she has more important things in your future, and I suppose languishing in the dungeons of Solitude was not one of them. She requests that you come to the shrine of Azura nestled in the mountains of Winterhold."

"I have other things to do with my freedom," Eirik replied.

"She said you might say that," said the elf. "She also said that if that be the case, I should...let you go."

"Really?" Eirik asked. "Let me go? You're not going to try to force me to go back to the shrine?"

"What, even though you're unarmed and I a master of the arcane arts?" asked the elf with a chuckle. "Yes. She said that, whether you will it or no, your path shall lead to the steps of her shrine. As the old saying goes, 'Once a servant of the daedra, always a servant of the daedra.' But since you choose follow blindly in your illusion of choice, then I have one last thing to say to you."

"I think I've heard enough out of you for one night," Eirik replied. "Now which way are we..."

Before Eirik could finish his sentence, the elf woman clapped her hand over his mouth, placed her other hand around his neck and began dragging him by the neck away from the stairs and towards the shadow (seen clearly enough even at night in the light of the moons) of an arched walkway that passed over the eastern end of the market-square. Once they were under its shadow, Eirik was able to wrestle himself free of the elf's grip.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You almost got us discovered!" she hissed. "Now keep your head about you. This is the way we must go."

"But there is no way out of the city," Eirik said. "Save by the main gate."

"You know nothing, snow-back," she retorted. Turning then to one of the pillars of the giant arch that formed a wall of stone separating the houses of Solitude from the market district, she opened a door that led into a narrow stone corridor. Into this she led Eirik and they swiftly passed through the city walls and down a spiraling staircase of one of the towers.

At last they came to a door which the elf woman opened, telling Eirik to go first. Looking up, he saw that he was outside of the walls of Solitude with a clear night sky glowing under the light of the two moons. There were few stars to be seen and the last chills of the dying winter still clung to the midnight air.

"Where do I go from here?" Eirik asked.

"How should I know?" asked the elf. "I'm a priestess, not a prophetess."

"Aren't you an oracle from Azura or something?" Eirik asked. "Didn't she tell me where my friends were?"

"She told me only what I told you," replied the Dunmer woman. "And also this." She leaned in and whispered her last message into Eirik's ear.

"Tell it to no one else save for whom it was meant for," said the elf. "If they ask for who it was who sent it, tell them that it was Aranea Ienith, priestess of Azura."

Eirik said nothing as Aranea slunk away into the darkness, leaving him dressed in prison rags all alone in the darkness in enemy territory. He had returned to Skyrim but was unarmed and alone. But now he had a purpose once again.

* * *

**(AN: Thankfully this chapter was shorter than the last one. The big stuff hasn't happened yet, but we're getting close. VERY close. If my reviewers have been paying attention since "The Dragonborn and the Lioness" [which they say they have], they will know that something very big is going to happen very soon. We also get to see the elf lady Aranea Ienith from the Azura quest. Seriously, the _Elder Scrolls_ wiki and _UESP_ pages say that she led the Dunmer from Vvardenfell in the aftermath of the eruption of the Red Mountain, but that would make her over two hundred years old. While it is not said just how old elves are in this world, there is no definitive data to say that they're as long-lived as Tolkien's elves [and i'm sure the Kirkbride fan-boys would take offense at assuming they are like Tolkien's elves since Kirkbride's _Morrowind_ lore was so anti-Tolkien that acknowledging anything that was Tolkien-based would just be a "dumbing down" of the _Elder Scrolls_ series and making it like a DnD rip off - you know, the typical responses to _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ from that end of the fandom].)**

**(Aside from, as I think I've said after every chapter which shows the Kirkbride-instigated racism of the Dunmer, art imitating real life, there is another reason I make the Dunmer have animosity in return to the Nords. Two hundred years they've been living in Skyrim and while the first two or three kings who lived after giving them the freedom to live autonomously in _Skyrim_ without being involved in their politics [did they fight in the Great War or were the ones who died as Aranea mentioned just collateral damage?] were probably okay with that, those sentiments changed my Ulfric's time. Of course I'm sure the majority of my reviewers, like my brother, would rather have the Dunmer just take the Nords' racism on the chin and not retaliate in kind or plan to repay evil for evil [like it has been established that they will in the book "Dunmer of Skyrim"], but that is not a realistic option considering the background the Dunmer have against the Nords and against anyone who isn't Dunmer [or even who isn't Dunmer of their own House])**


	22. Return to Whiterun

**(AN: I've been building up for it, and now it just got real. You just don't know how real it is about to get! So this one, unlike the last two, is gonna be longer and will probably take a while to be published.)**

**(Also I just want to share a little bit of info about Dawnstar since we are starting here. It is bigger in this story than the one in the game, and there are buildings around the little cove where the new Dark Brotherhood sanctuary door is, which is now actually hidden in the cellar of a building rather than just out there for everyone to see.)  
**

**(And before we continue, thank you for the review. I personally wish that the story could be simpler. I feel like in media as well as in literature, the lines of good and evil are blurred so much it makes me wonder why this is done so persistently and consistently. Of course the answer would be that "good and evil aren't clearly defined in real life". But why not? I mean, if good and evil are open to personal interpretation, then justice is meaningless because the criminal's idea of good [ie. stealing/killing/raping, etc. to get what he/she wants] is just as valid as the idea of good of the innocent child. That's one reason I like the idea of a medieval-style fantasy, a world where good and evil are less blurred. Because, based on just personal observation, blurring good and evil feels like it's just being done to protect someone's privileges which are usually considered morally wrong.)  
**

**(How does this observation on life tie in to _Skyrim_, mind you? Well, the game starts you out with the "good" Empire killing you because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time [what is justice?]. But then there is the bait-and-switch where you think that joining the Stormcloaks is good because they're opposing this obviously callous and unjust Empire who has little care for the lives of their citizens but the game developers throw you a curve-ball by having them treat the Dunmer like trash [aww, poor racist Dunmer!] and saying in the main quest that the real threat, the Thalmor, are using Ulfric to destabilize the Empire. So obviously you run screaming "tolerance!" towards the Empire to see that they are puppets pushing the Thalmor agenda of religious oppression and are kind of idiots ["what the rebels like to forget is that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim"...yeah, and the Thalmor are the leaders of the Dominion. Great job, Empire!]. So what does that give us? Well, it pretty much throws national identity, cultural pride, autonomy and religious freedom under the rug because those causes are being championed by "racists" so they can't do anything while the Empire is free to curb freedoms and oppress an entire country "for the good of the Empire." I don't know, call me an idealistic dreamer for wanting a clearer definition of good and evil, but that's just me.)**

* * *

**Return to Whiterun**

Lydia slowly recovered, finding herself in the cargo hold of the Red Dog. The back of her head hurt something fierce, even more than her ass had when she had been thrown into Sovngarde. As her eyes blinked open, she saw Crixus standing nearby, dressed in Imperial legionnaire armor. It was strange to see him in armor, since she had known him to wear ranger's garb rather than soldier's armor, even though he frequently boasted of his affiliation with the Legion.

"By the Nine!" she exclaimed. "Who hit me?"

"Glad to see you're awake," Crixus finally said. "We've arrived at Dawnstar. You're free to go your way."

"Free?" Lydia asked, rising to her feet. "Wha...wait a minute, where are the soldiers? Where's Eirik?"

"There wasn't anything I could do," Crixus replied. "They've taken him."

"Taken him?" Lydia replied. "Where? Who's taken him? The soldiers? Did you just let the Empire take my thane captive _again?_"

"Listen," Crixus began. "I'm not exactly sure who's seen you in his company, but where we're going next I doubt you'd be welcomed, especially if they know who you're affiliated with. So it's best that I drop you off here and tell you to go on about your merry way. Go mind the house at Breezehome or find that wench of his and tell her that he'll be a bit late coming home."

"Late?" Lydia retorted incredulously. "The Empire will kill him and you fucking let it happen! I should have followed my gut and stabbed you when I had the chance!"

"Do I need to have Gorak knock you out again and throw you off the ship?" Crixus threatened.

"Eirik was right about you," Lydia retorted. "This _was_ a trap!"

Crixus chuckled. "Sure, sure, whatever you say. Apparently I'm so fucking clever that I knew that a letter from that Skaal b*tch would arrive, asking for Eirik's help on Solstheim. I also knew exactly where to find Eirik and knew beyond a doubt that your ignorant thane, who doesn't trust me though he has more cause to trust me than that sheep-fucker Ulfric, would actually listen and come with me to Solstheim. Then, instead of doing the right thing and killing him outside of Skyrim, I anticipated that we would return to Skyrim and then I locked him below deck and waited until we docked at Solitude, under _my_ orders apparently even though I was below deck with the rest of you, and let the Legion take Eirik into custody! And you people wonder why you're the laughing stock of all of Tamriel!"

Lydia did not respond to Crixus' taunt but held him in a stern glare of derision. Crixus chuckled and then turned away, shouting something out of the door of cargo hold where they had slept.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"If you won't go," Crixus said. "You will be thrown off this ship. Gorak, have your giant woman throw her off this ship and make sure she doesn't get back on."

"Yes, legate." Gorak replied.

"And now, if you'll excuse me," Crixus said with a smug grin to Lydia. "I have to go and bring order to this shit-hole of a country. Give my regards to Eirik and to his pet lioness, if you happen to see them." With one last mocking smile he vanished from beyond the door and Lydia soon found herself swept off her feet by giant hands and dragged through the deck after Crixus onto the top deck.

* * *

How long he had walked in the darkness down the Kilkreath Mountains in Haafingar, Eirik did not exactly know. He hadn't eaten since the first night of the storm on the Red Dog, but how long ago that must have been he knew not either. When he had finally lost consciousness, he had no idea where he was or if he was even going the right direction. He no longer cared for he had no weapon, no armor, no food or supplies of any kind and he had failed Skyrim and its people. There was no greater low to which he could sink than this, so he believed.

When his eyes finally opened, Eirik found himself lying inside a room that stank of beer. The ceiling was made of wood and he could hear the roar of the sea just beyond the walls. As he looked around, he saw that the room was a simple inn with few trappings of any kind. Near at hand he saw a figure sitting on the bed opposite from him dressed in black and wearing a black hood cast down over their head.

"Welcome to the Jaunty Mudcrab Tavern," a familiar voice said from beneath the hood.

"The what?" Eirik groaned.

"A sailor's tavern," the voice said. "We're in Dawnstar."

"Dawnstar?" Eirik groaned again. "What happened to the Windpeak Inn? What day is it?"

"Aren't you hungry, Eirik?" the voice asked.

"You...you know me," Eirik mumbled. "But I know that voice...Serana?"

The dark figure removed the hood, revealing the face of Serana. Eirik saw her and chuckled in relief and she smiled.

"By all that is holy," Eirik laughed. "I never thought to see you again!"

"Glad to see you missed me," Serana said with a smirk. "To answer your questions, the Mudcrad is on the shore-level, the Windpeak Inn is farther up on the city level proper. Most sailors don't have the coin to pay for the big rooms over there so they come here. It is seven o'clock in the evening on the tenth day of Sun's Dawn, a Tirdas, if you want to know specifically. Now answer _my_ question: aren't you hungry?"

"Yes, I'm famished," Eirik replied. "Oh, Serana, but I am glad to see you! You would not believe all the things that I've been through!"

"You seem to lead a charmed life, my friend," Serana replied. "So I'm not exactly going to play the skeptic, since you and I have seen some pretty weird shite ourselves, haven't we?" She chuckled. "I'll see about some food, and while we're at it, there are a few people you should probably see before you leave here, if you choose to leave."

"Really?" Eirik asked. "Who else is here?"

"If you mean here in the Mudcrab," Serana returned. "Quite a few. There's a few sailors in the common room right now, the proprietor and the ones I spoke of. They're in the upper rooms."

"Where am I?" Eirik asked.

"Ground floor," Serana replied.

Eirik tried to rise, but found that he was too weak from a lack of food and his head began to swim. Serana placed her arm around his shoulders (reminding him of how cold her hands were) and guided Eirik up onto his feet, out of the bedroom and into the common room. Here she led Eirik to a table and then placed an order for some food from the bartender, a middle-aged Redguard. She quickly returned, seeming to have forgotten herself in that her hood was not thrown down in public.

"Shouldn't you, you know," Eirik began, gesturing towards her hood.

"No, I'm safe here," Serana said. "The proprietor, that's him behind the bar, he's a friend of mine. He won't let anything happen to me."

"Sounds impressive, considering the things you have a tendency to get yourself into," Eirik said, at which Serana chuckled slightly. While Eirik waited for his food, he looked around at the other patrons. There was a general drone of unintelligible conversation which seemed to lull him into a haze as much as the roaring fire upon the hearth nearby. But he also realized something else about this inn.

"Where are the bards?" he asked. "Why is there no music?"

"The proprietor hates everything frivolous, it seems," Serana replied with a smirk. "Mimes, minstrels, actors, acrobats, jugglers, troubadours, tumblers, flutists and jesters. When this place is empty, it's almost as quiet as a tomb."

Eirik groaned. This seemed to be as boring as the inn in Morthal, where the only bard was an orc who couldn't sing. After a short while, their food arrived. Eirik tore apart the bread with his bare hands and dipped it ravenously into the bowl of stew which he ate vigorously.

"You must have been _really_ hungry!" Serana exclaimed with a slight chuckle.

"Aye," Eirik gasped after swallowing. "They didn't feed me in the dungeons of Solitude. Speaking of which, how did you find me?"

"I was out hunting," Serana replied. "When I came across your body lying out in the middle of a road at the bottom of the Kilkreath Mountains, dressed in rags and without weapons or armor. You have a habit of coming into my care at your weakest, Eirik. First it was your sword hand and now this? I mean, if anyone should be asking questions, it should be me. How did you end up in the middle of the road? And what's this about the dungeons of Solitude? I thought we were past that!"

"It was Crixus," Eirik said, placing the hunk of bread in his hand aside. "He betrayed me."

"Are you sure?" Serana asked. "I mean, I know he can be rough around the edges and he doesn't exactly like you, but betrayal? He's had plenty of time to do that if that was really his aim."

"There's no mistake this time," Eirik replied, shaking his head. "He had me locked below deck in his ship and the next thing I know, Imperial troops are swarming the ship and have got me bound and gagged and hauled off to the dungeons of Solitude."

"How did you escape?" she asked.

"A Dunmer priestess of Azura," Eirik repeated. "She stole the keys to my cell and showed me the way out."

Serana smiled. "You certainly seem to be beloved by whatever gods there might be."

"I thought you didn't believe in the Nine," Eirik queried.

"Just because I don't go into temples or near shrines," Serana retorted. "Doesn't mean I refuse to believe they exist. Still, you seem to be blessed. Because not only did I find you, I found someone else who can confirm your story. Though I didn't find them in the same way that I found you. They were kind of dropped off at our door-step. Literally."

"Who?" Eirik asked.

"Just finish your food and we'll go see," Serana replied.

Eirik ate in quietness and Serana ate nothing as she watched him or gazed at the other patrons. He did not resist a second helping of the food. As he was finishing off a tankard of ale, Serana told him that it was time for some answers. She offered to help him up to the upper rooms, but Eirik dismissed the offer. His strength was returning and he felt ready to kill a dragon if it should perchance to suddenly drop out of the sky. As soon as he drained his cup, he followed Serana up the stairs to the upper rooms. She led him to a room near the back end of the inn and opened the door. Inside Eirik saw a figure clad in grey robes and another in the robes of a mage. Serana, bringing up the rear, closed the door on them and the mage stood up from where he was sitting. As soon as Eirik saw him rise up, taller by half a head, he began to worry. His fears were increased when the mage turned around and revealed his sallow face.

"What the hell is this?" Eirik asked. "What is _that_ doing here?"

"Peace, master barbarian," an elderly voice replied. "I am not with the Aldmeri Dominion. My name is Calcelmo and I serve Jarl Igmund as court mage in Markarth."

"Still, you're a high elf, aren't you?" Eirik retorted. "You're one of those types who think you own all of Tamriel, that our culture, our traditions, our faith, even the Empire, are only good because the elves created them, isn't that so?"

"I cannot change the truth," Calcelmo replied. "Therefore I have dedicated my life to uncovering the secrets of the past. I am here at the request of our mutual friend who sent me here to examine Lethia."

"Examine who?"

"This one," Calcelmo gestured to the one in grey. "I should thank you and our mutual friend for this. It will be a great help for my work."

"And what work is that?" Eirik asked suspiciously.

"I am an archaeologist," Calcelmo began. "Oh, but I forget myself, you probably don't even know what that means. In layman's terms, I study the ancient Dwemer ruins that are scattered across Skyrim's landscape. But I have other interests, including a translation codex on the language of the Falmer. For this latter work, Lethia has been most helpful."

The grey-clad figure turned around and Eirik saw once again the pale blue face of the Snow Elf Crixus had saved from death in the Forgotten Vale in the west. When her blue eyes fell upon Eirik, she let out a string of words which, though Eirik knew not what they meant, he could tell that they were not pleasant words at all.

"What is she saying?" Serana asked.

"She's saying, 'This one has to go,'" Calcelmo translated, gesturing to Eirik. "She says he'll kill us all."

"Tell her I won't," Eirik ordered. Calcelmo spoke to the Snow Elf Lethia in a slow, measured version of words in the same language that she had spoken. After he had finished, she retorted with a longer trail of angry words.

"Now what?"

"She says, 'All you people know is killing,'" Calcelmo translated. "She's asking 'Where is the other one? The ugly ape this one made carry me. Where is the kind slave?'"

"Tell her to cut it with the insults," Eirik said, clenching his teeth. "We're not her slaves, none of us are!"

Calcelmo translated Eirik's words and Lethia answered in a hesitant tone.

"She says that she does not understand," Calcelmo said. "All men are slaves to the mer. She asks that you answer her immediately or she will have you killed."

"Are you sure you're saying the proper words to her?" Eirik asked.

"It would be immoral to perjure the truth," Calcelmo replied.

"You know what I'm saying!" Eirik retorted, anger rising up within his throat. "How do I know you're saying exactly what I'm saying? You could be telling her things that I'm not actually say..."

But before Eirik could continue, the elf cried out and rose up from the bed. She turned to Eirik and he saw that her eyes were not blue but white. When she spoke, it was strange to Eirik because she spoke in the common tongue, in words that he could understand: and she spoke directly to him, not to Serana or Calcelmo.

"Go, little man," she said. "Fight your wars. Auri-El, whose dreams unravel the fabrics of time and who has seen the end, has decreed it. All your strength is in vain. The Aedra have forsaken the Adopted: but the cry of the oppressed, the Changed Ones, will be heard. Let this defeat be the first of many to come for your kind: slavery shall return as the birthright of the race of men and after three thousand years have expired, the Brass God shall return and _all_ shall fall!"

No sooner had she spoken when she staggered back, massaging her temples. Eirik asked her what she had said and why, but she railed on him in her own tongue which he did not understand. Calcelmo helped her back to her bed while Eirik pushed open the door and left the room, Serana in tow after him.

"What just happened?" Serana asked. "I've never seen her act like that before. I mean, yes, she said some nasty things about me, but that can be excused. I'm not only a vampire, I was human. But what was all that she was talking about about the Changed Ones and the Brass God?"

"I don't know," Eirik replied.

Moments later, Calcelmo appeared from the room, a concerned look on his face.

"How is she?" Serana asked.

"She's resting comfortably now," he said. "But I know very little about this, I'm not a healer. I'm more intrigued about what she said."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"Oh, surely you barbarians have traditions of prophets," Calcelmo replied. "According to my research, the Snow Elves, which many call Falmer, were once very religious. Serana here told me about a temple in the Wrothgarian Mountains which you and Crixus visited earlier this year. It is rather intriguing to say the least, however my own work is based primarily..."

"Are you saying that she's a prophet of some kind?" Eirik asked.

"Well, really!" Calcelmo exclaimed at being interrupted.

"What did she say just now?" Eirik asked. "What was she talking about, about the Changed Ones and the Brass God?"

"Well, that's no secret!" Calcelmo chuckled. "The Chimer, the elven race living in what is called Morrowind today, were referred to as the 'Changed Ones.' Although these days they are called 'Dunmer', the dark elves. As for the Brass God..." Calcelmo paused for a moment to stroke his short white beard pensively. "...curious. This has not been talked about openly since the last era!"

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"The Brass God is another name for an ancient Dwemer artifact," Calcelmo began. "A massive animunculus, similar to the ones found in the ruins of the Dwemer cities."

"Just that?" Eirik asked again. "I've been inside Dwemer ruins, there's nothing really that important there. At least nothing that would come close to being considered godly."

"And what did you see in these Dwemer ruins, hmm?" asked Calcelmo. "Automated defenses? Perhaps the fabled Dwemer centurion? The Numidium was even greater than a legion of Dwemer centurions. Some say that the mystery of the disappearance of the Dwemer was tied up in this artifact."

"Was?" Eirik asked.

"It was destroyed," Calcelmo replied. "Twice, in fact. Once by the Underking during the reign of Tiber Septim the Elf-killer and again in the so-called Warp in the West. Lethia must have been mistaken with what she said; there's no possible way the Numidium could return. Though why she spoke common suddenly I do not understand. If she was indeed a Falmer, she would not have been able to speak since birth, or at least know no language other than her own."

"You said there is no possible way for the Numidium to return," Eirik interjected. "Why is that?"

"Because it was built by the Dwemer," Calcelmo replied. "And they have long since disappeared from off the face of Tamriel. Some don't even believe that Yagrum Bagarn, the Last Dwemer, still lives in Morrowind. It has been centuries since the Nerevarine encountered him in Tel Fyr and it is likely that he was buried in the eruption of Red Mountain or slain in the Argonian invasion."

Calcelmo dismissed himself and returned to Lethia's room. Meanwhile, Eirik turned to Serana who held him under her gaze for a good long while.

"You're not going to go all insane about this prophecy like my father did, are you?" she asked. "I mean, come on, there's nothing really to believe about it. You heard what Calcelmo said: this brass god thing can't be rebuilt without the Dwemer and they're nowhere to be found. Besides, she said that all of this was to happen thousands of years from now." She placed a reassuring hand on Eirik's shoulder.

"If anyone should be worrying about this prophecy," she said. "It should be me. I'm more likely to live that long than you are, but you see that I'm not upset about it. So don't worry. Your children's children's children will be long since dead and buried before this comes to pass, if it ever does."

Eirik nodded wordlessly. Serana smiled.

"What?"

"There's more that I wanted to show you," she said. "The second part of what I wanted to show you. Remember when I said this person was dropped off at our doorstep?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe I'll let her tell it," Serana said. She led Eirik down the hall to the other end of the inn, nearest the shore. Just outside they could hear the endless crash of waves upon the rocks of the shore and the howl of wind through the cracks in the wood beams. Serana opened the door and suddenly Eirik saw someone standing in the doorway of the room which caused his face to break out in a wide smile.

"Lydia!"

"My thane!" The huscarl threw her arms around Eirik's shoulders in a warm embrace and did not release until she saw Serana looking at them with one eyebrow cocked.

"Forgive me," she suddenly said. "I've overstepped my boundaries as your servant."

"You're more than a servant, Lydia," Eirik replied. "You're like a friend, more like family!"

"I'm honored to see you again," said Lydia. "I thought I would never see you again after what happened."

"On the ship, aye," Eirik said. "Crixus betrayed us."

"He did?" she asked. "I knew he wasn't trust-worthy."

"But what happened to you?" he asked. "I would have thought they'd have captured you as well."

"They knocked me out and threw me into the cargo hold," said Lydia. "When I woke up, Crixus had me thrown off the ship. We were here in Dawnstar by then, I guess he thought I wouldn't be of any help in rescuing you."

"You got here before me?" Eirik asked. "Have you seen Mjoll? Please give her my apologies that I wasn't there to see her at the dock." He saw that Lydia's face became grim when he heard the name of Mjoll. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, my thane," Lydia replied morosely. "I searched the whole town the moment I got back. All I've heard was that she went south, to the Tower of Dawn on the hill overlooking the town and the sea, accompanied by a priest of Mara. They said she did not come back down."

Eirik sighed worriedly, passing his hand over the right side of his face. He could feel his fingers trembling beneath his face.

"I wouldn't worry about her, Eirik," Serana spoke up. "I've seen her fight. She can handle herself."

"She's right, my thane," Lydia added. "Perhaps she just went back to Riften or Breezehome or maybe Lakeview Estate or something. She's a strong woman: there's no need to fear the worst."

"If only it were that easy," Eirik replied.

"Well, I have something else to take your mind off this," Lydia said. "Apparently we weren't as careful in our escape from Whiterun as we thought, my thane. Someone in Whiterun noticed our departure and where we went. They sent this letter to you." Lydia removed from her bosom a letter sealed in crimson wax.

"To me?" Eirik asked. "Why do you have it, then?"

"The courier was told to give it to either you or me," said Lydia. "Obviously I'm well-known in Whiterun, so he knew my face."

Lydia handed the letter to Eirik, who examined the seal. It was the horse-head, the emblem of the Hold of Whiterun. Breaking the seal, he held the letter up to a candle nearby on a table. Here is what was written thereon.

_To Eirik the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun_

_Your Jarl has requested your immediate return to Whiterun._

_Eight be with you,_

_Hrongar, Jarl of Whiterun_

"It's a trap," Lydia said as soon as Eirik finished reading the note. "We just left that place as it became a haven for Imperials. We can't go back there."

"We have to," Eirik said.

"What?" Lydia exclaimed.

"I'm the Harbinger of the Companions," Eirik replied. "The ones I appointed as their leaders are on Solstheim. I need to make sure they are well."

"They can survive without you!" Lydia retorted.

"I have a duty to them," Eirik said. "I must honor my obligation to the Companions as their Harbinger."

Lydia sighed. "I still think this is a bad idea. But, as your huscarl, I am sworn to your service. I've got your back, my thane. Wherever you lead, I am sworn to follow."

Eirik turned to Serana. "And you?"

"Now just a minute here," Serana retorted. "I've done more than enough by even talking to you. You know who I work for now and Crixus has told you, doubtless, that many have performed the you-know-what against you. We're supposed to kill you on sight and I've more than risked myself by talking to you and saving you from the night."

"But you're a vampire!" Eirik exclaimed. "How can you be at risk from anyone?"

Serana leaned in and whispered into Eirik's ear. "They have another vampire with them. If they want to kill me, it's more than within their power to do so." She stepped back and cleared her throat.

"You'll have a long way to go this night," she said. "And you've slept the day away already. I say you go now as soon as possible before the proprietor remembers who you are. That is, if you're rested."

"Aye, I'm rested." Eirik said.

* * *

All that night Eirik and Lydia rode from Dawnstar southward into the snowy cold of the Pale. They had little gear to say, for Eirik had not received his gear from the dungeons of Solitude and was unarmed. Lydia also had been thrown off the Red Dog without taking their winter clothes and so they had to go forth clad in nothing but their cloaks. They rode slowly, for while the horses were fit for traveling across long distances in snowy land, the two had to bear torches to guide them on their path.

By morning's light, they had crossed the snows and the light of day was upon them as they reached the northern border of Whiterun. Here they had to rest for the journey by night was tiresome and they rested little in the ever-winter cold of the Pale. Their rest was brief and then they mounted up and galloped on to Whiterun. They reached the stables and hitched their horses up, with Lydia paying for the use of the stables. Then they made their way up to the gates of Whiterun on foot. While they walked up the hill, Eirik kept his eyes on the walls of Whiterun. There were Imperial soldiers on the walls, all of them armed with bows. If they wanted to kill them, they had the perfect chance to do so. They came up to the gate, which was sealed, and were approached by an Imperial soldier.

"Halt, Nord!" he said. "What business do you have in Whiterun?"

"I am the Thane of Whiterun," Eirik answered. "I am answering the summons of the Jarl of Solitude."

"Do you have authorization papers?" the soldier asked.

Lydia handed the letter to Eirik and he handed it to the soldier. The soldier looked it over and then handed it back to Eirik.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said. "Welcome back to Whiterun, thane."

The guards opened the gates and Eirik and Lydia made their way swiftly into the town of Whiterun. It seemed a lot less active than how he usually knew it. There were Imperial soldiers, no fewer than two, patrolling up and down the streets. The sound of hammering from Adrianne's forge was heard as they passed it by and Eirik saw several Legion troops standing in wait by Warmaiden's. They turned left into the Wind District, where most of the houses of the rich and influential were to be found in Whiterun. As they passed through the boughs of the Gildergleam, Eirik saw a blank altar which had once held the statue of Talos. Instead there stood a stocks in which a large Nord was held. On either side were two Imperial soldiers.

"Move along, citizen," one of the soldiers said as he noticed Eirik looking his way.

"Who is this man?" Eirik asked, gesturing to the one in the stocks.

"No one," the soldier replied. "Just another drunken Nord hiding out in the Bannered Mare."

"Hey, I know him!" Lydia spoke up. "That's Sinmir!"

"What is his crime?" Eirik asked.

"He's a Nord, what crime does he _have_ to had committed?" the soldier replied. "As it was, he started a fight in the Bannered Mare after he said that the Empire is the lap-dog of the Aldmeri Dominion. Stupid Nord! What the rebels like to forget is that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim."

"Yes, that's right," a haughty voice spoke. A female high elf dressed in the robes of a Thalmor justicar, approached the stocks. She turned to Eirik, looking down her nose at Eirik from her height.

"Ah, you're the thane of Whiterun, I presume," she said. "I trust you're on your way to meet with Jarl Hrongar?"

"How do you know?" Eirik asked.

"We know everything that happens in Whiterun," the elf replied. "As it turns out, I'm going that way myself. I trust to see you arrive there promptly. Jarl Hrongar would not like to be kept waiting."

The Thalmor walked on towards Dragonsreach while Eirik and Lydia followed on after her. As they passed the archway leading into Dragonsreach, Eirik paused before entering as the guards let the Thalmor agent pass.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Lydia said. "Thalmor agents in Whiterun? It's like a nightmare! Why don't we just run down to Jorrvaskr and see to the Companions? That's why you're here, isn't it?"

But Eirik said nothing as he approached the great oaken doors of Dragonsreach. They were pushed open and Eirik saw, waiting for him, the hall of Dragonsreach filled with people. The two great tables on either side of the fire-pit were filled this day with people eating and drinking. On the right table Eirik saw Vignar Grey-Mane, Eorlund Grey-Mane of the Companions, his wife Fralia, and the young woman Olfina whom he had met previously when Fralia asked him to find her son Thorald. On the left table Eirik saw a large family with five people. There was an old man who was eying Vignar and Eorlund with hate and his equally old wife at his right-hand side, glaring at those on the other side of the table. Down from her was a Nord clad in the armor of the Legion with long golden hair, a dagger-like beard and a mustache with twirled ends. He would not even look at those across from him. Next to him was a woman who was minding a timid-looking child. At the end of their table was another blond man, but he seemed to be looking across the table at Oflina Grey-Mane, though his eyes were not filled with any anger or hate.

"Welcome!" a loud voice greeted from the farthest end of the hall. There, on the throne of Whiterun, sat Hrongar, the new Jarl. He wore fine clothes and a circlet of gold upon his nearly-bald head and had a goblet in his hands. He gestured to Eirik that he approach the throne and so he did, eying the side walls of the hall, lined with Imperial guards. But as he was near the throne, Irileth the Dunmer huscarl appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

"Hello again, Irileth," Eirik greeted.

"I'll have to ask you to lay down your weapons," said the elf.

"But I have no weapons," Eirik returned.

"She does," Irileth gestured to Lydia.

"Come on, Irileth," Lydia retorted. "You know me. I won't cause any trouble."

"That's not for me to decide," the huscarl said. "It is the new law of the hall. None shall carry weapons in the Jarl's presence save for his personal huscarl and the Imperial soldiers guarding the hall. Surrender your sword and your shield to me now, or I will have you hauled off to the dungeon."

Eirik sighed quietly then turned to Lydia. "Do as she says."

Lydia reluctantly relinquished her sword and shield as Eirik approached Jarl Hrongar. At the side of the throne, Eirik saw the Thalmor justicar standing to Hrongar's right hand.

"Dragonborn," he said. "It is good that you have arrived here on this auspicious day. I see that my message reached you in time."

"I want you to know," Eirik said. "That, as your thane, I will not turn my sword against the people of Whiterun."

"That's good," Hrongar smiled. "In these desperate times, it is good that there are some who still value honor above all else. Please, sit down at the table with the Grey-Manes. You and your huscarl."

Eirik and Lydia stepped down from the dais and joined the table with the Grey-Manes. As they were waiting, Eirik saw Proventus Avenicci, the steward of Dragonsreach, walk out among the tables and, with a golden horn in his hands, poured mead for the Grey-Manes from it. Eirik saw that a goblet had been placed before him at his place, as well as before Lydia. As soon as Proventus had poured mead for all the Grey-Manes, Hrongar rose up from his throne.

"Friends," he began. "As Jarl of Whiterun, it is my great honor on this day, Tirdas, the eleventh day of Sun's Dawn, on the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, to welcome back the Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns into Dragonsreach to raise the cup of friendship together."

There were no cheers from either end of the table.

"Today," Hrongar continued. "News has arrived from the front-lines. The Empire has besieged the city of Windhelm a second time. Gods willing, this war will soon be over. May we one day put behind us the memory of the horrible deeds which have torn us apart this past year."

Once more there were no cheers. Eirik looked at the Battle-Born table and saw the oldest man look suspiciously over at the Jarl. Suddenly Vignar rose from his seat.

"I for one find this invitation insulting," he said. "You've only called us here to mock us with this show of peace!"

"Shut up, you old fool!" said the old Battle-Born. "You know nothing of our suffering, of _our_ sacrifice!"

"Suffering? Sacrifice?" Fralia retorted. "You certainly seem rich enough, despite all your 'sacrifices!'"

"Shut up, b*tch!" the old Battle-Born woman retorted.

"Mother, please!" the blond man at the end of the table spoke up.

"Quiet, Jon!" the old woman retorted. "As long as I have breath, I won't stand to have these barbarians before us! Olfrid, my love, let us go! This is no place for decent folk like us!"

"Quite right, Bergritte."

"Silence, all of you!" Hrongar roared. All were silent. "Olfrid, my friend. I ask that you hold your peace. While this war has been very hard on us all, soon it shall be over and we will be united once again. When that happens, we must put such hatreds behind us. In fact, as a promise of things to come, I hereby name you to be steward of Dragonsreach."

"What?" Proventus suddenly spoke up. "My lord, why do you do this? Have I not provided faithful service both to your brother and to you?"

"I am Jarl of Whiterun!" Hrongar roared. "My will is law, and I say that you have been too soft. We need someone harder, someone...with honor. For that, the head of Clan Battle-Born is now the steward of Dragonsreach."

"I am honored, great Jarl of Whiterun!" Olfrid Battle-Born said, rising up from his seat and bowing in respect. "Long may your throne live in prosperity and honor."

The Battle-Born table rose up in cheers while those at the Grey-Mane table were sullen.

"This is madness!" Eorlund Grey-Mane shouted. "We will never stand for this injustice! Olfrid is made steward, but what is left now for Clan Grey-Mane?"

"A sword in your back if you don't shut up!" the familiar voice of Idolaf Battle-Born sneered. Eirik saw that he was the one wearing the Imperial armor.

"My father has every right to his opinion as you do," Olfina Grey-Mane spoke.

"You Grey-Manes have no right to anything, b*tch!" Idolaf retorted.

"Please, brother!" Jon spoke up. "Be honorable!"

"Yes, my husband," the woman at Idolaf's right spoke up. "We've gathered here to mend the old friendships. Surely a little courtesy..."

"Shut up, Alfhild!" Idolaf retorted.

"Friends, friends," Hrongar interjected again. "Please. This is no way to repair old friendships. Come, let us all drink the cup of friendship and be done with all this bitter hatred."

At this, old Vignar rose from his seat, with his goblet in hand.

"Hrongar," he began. "As the temporary Harbinger of the Companions, I cannot assume political preference one way or another."

"Just wait, Lars," Idolaf whispered to the child to his wife's right. "If he had his way, he'd have stabbed Balgruuf in the back and taken the Jarldom for himself."

Vignar continued. "My own thoughts on the war notwithstanding, I will say that, on behalf of the Companions, some of whom, namely my brother Eorlund, favor the cause of Ulfric Stormcloak, we thank you that the new regime has not interfered with the function and purpose of the Companions. We thank you that we have been allowed to work and fight unmolested, keeping to our own as we have always done and taking no side in this war. For this honor, I shall raise the goblet of friendship and drink to that. To the Companions!"

Hrongar cheered and rose his goblet. Eirik watched as Vignar drained his goblet, then reached for his own to do likewise when suddenly he heard the old man choking. He bent over and was grasping at his throat. Fralia leaped up from her seat and attended her husband. Eirik looked across the table and saw Olfrid Battle-Born looking on with thinly veiled delight as Vignar continued choking.

"Don't drink it!" Eirik shouted to Lydia, swatting away the goblet from her hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jon Battle-Born spoke up.

"What does it look like?" Hrongar asked.

Suddenly a soldier who had stood on the side of the hall, approached the Grey-Mane table and thrust his sword through Olfina Grey-Mane's back.

"No!" Jon shouted, rising up from his seat. Idolaf suddenly halted him by placing his sword against his throat.

"What's the matter, brother?" he asked. "Sad to see the Grey-Mane b*tch die?"

"Olfina was no b*tch!" Jon retorted.

"She's a Grey-Mane!" Idolaf sneered. "And you need to make a decision, brother. Either you're with us or you're with the rebels!"

"More Imperial lies!" Eorlund shouted. Behind him two soldiers approached with swords, ready to put an end to him. But he refused to go down without a fight. With arms honed over years spent smithing at the Skyforge, he struck the Imperial soldier down to the floor and drew out his sword, diving it into the chest of the second. Immediately more guards rushed to attack him and he fought them off one by one. But while he was fighting, a single soldier crossed over to where Fralia, in bitter lamentation, held her dying husband and slit her throat with his sword.

"What is the meaning of this...slaughter?" Eirik asked, turning to Hrongar.

"This is a new day for Whiterun," Hrongar said. "Those who are loyal to rebels and traitors must die a traitor's death."

"There is no honor in this!" Eirik said.

"How _dare_ you call _me_ dishonorable, rebel scum!" Hrongar ordered. "Irileth, seize him!"

Several soldiers gathered around Eirik and Lydia who, without weapons, could do nothing but stand and watch. Eorlund was fighting for his life but had taken too many hits to survive any longer. On the other side of the room, Jon Battle-Born was weeping openly while Alfhild Battle-Born was shielding the eyes of her son Lars. When Idolaf saw this, he turned to Alfhild and tore her hand away from Lars' eyes.

"He needs to see this," he said. "It is the only way he will become strong."

"He doesn't need to see death," Alfhild retorted. "He needs his father!"

"How dare you talk to me this way!" Idolaf retorted.

"Your son needs you, he doesn't need this senseless killing!" Alfhild reasoned. "Your son needs his father and you spend your days picking fights with Clan Grey-Mane and preening about Whiterun, proud of your father selling out to keep his name!"

Idolaf punched Alfhild in the face with his fist, sending her down to the ground.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me like that, b*tch!" he roared. "It's your fault he's becoming a fucking milk-drinker, cowering away from little girls!"

But any other words were lost as suddenly Eorlund broke upon the guards surrounding Eirik and Lydia, cutting away at them with his sword. He was moving sluggishly and bleeding from the many wounds he bore. When he could fight no more, he threw his sword into one of the Imperial guards, then collapsed at Eirik's feet. His hand reached up for Eirik, who knelt down at his side.

"I'm here," Eirik said.

"The Companions..." Eorlund groaned. "They must...not...fall. Save them...for Kodlak...for Clan Grey-Mane..."

Eorlund Grey-Mane finally collapsed at Eirik's feet, the last of his blood on Eirik's hands. From the other end of the hall came clapping. Eirik looked up and saw Olfrid Battle-Born clapping and beaming.

"Well done, my lord!" he exclaimed. "It has been a long time coming. At last, justice has been served upon these heathens!"

"You were once friends with Clan Grey-Mane," Hrongar replied. "Do you not feel any sorrow?"

"Our friendship with Clan-Grey Mane ended," Olfrid stated. "When Eorlund and Vignar turned their backs on their Emperor."

"Fools!" Eirik shouted. "The Emperor is dead. Your Empire is in shambles, a slave to the Dominion. What has this blood-bath earned you save for the delight of Elenwen and those high elves in Solitude?"

"Lies, all lies!" Olfrid retorted. "The Empire is strong! You heathens must be purged from the Empire!"

"Long live the Empire!" Idolaf saluted, then turned to Hrongar. "My Jarl, let me run this rebel scum through here and now!"

"You raise your hand against the Thane of Whiterun?" Eirik asked.

"Not anymore," Hrongar said, turning to Eirik. "As of this moment, I have revoked your title and any land you might have possessed in Whiterun. You are no longer Thane of Whiterun."

"How are you going to escape out of this one, milk drinker?" Idolaf scoffed.

Eirik saw that escape was, at the best, impossible and at worst, suicide. There were at least thirteen guards dead but seventeen still alive and armed, their blades aimed at him and Lydia. Irileth had her blade pointed at him and now Idolaf had drawn his sword and was making his way towards him. The gates of Dragonsreach were at least twenty feet away, but with the number of guards, there was no way he could possibly run that far before they got him.

"Hrongar!" Eirik spoke up. "If I am to die, may I at least say my last words?"

"I care not."

"This day, the eleventh day of Sun's Dawn," he began. "I swear by Ysgramor, by Ysmir and by Talos that I will not let this injustice go unpunished! Lydia, take my hand!"

"Kill him!" Idolaf shouted.

Eirik gripped Lydia's hand, remembered another moment at the summit of Apocrypha when this particular Thu'um had come in handy, and then shouted: "_Tiid!_" Everyone around Eirik and Lydia suddenly slowed down to a crawl. Without batting an eye, Eirik ran towards the door, keeping his hand on Lydia. There was not much time before the power of the Thu'um broke and everything moved normally, but there was just enough time. He had to get away, at least out of Dragonsreach. Whiterun had suddenly become very unfriendly.

* * *

**(AN: I won't even say I'm sorry for this chapter. It will piss off the Empire-lovers, yes, but if there is anything to apologize for, it is for shamelessly ripping off the Red Wedding from _Game of Thrones_. I feel that somebody needed to die before the end, somebody important. Too few people died in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and this is, after all, war. People die in war. Yes, I picked Clan Battle-Born to be the ones doing it, but let's be honest, they're dicks only a little better than those damn Lannisters! Idolaf is a crappy father because he spends his time raging about "them damn Grey-Manes" instead of teaching his son to not be a wimp while his father Olfrid talks about the "suffering" and "sacrifice" of Clan Battle-Born, yet he seems pretty well off in his fine clothes and his lofty, prestigious position as one of the "greatest" families in Skyrim and apparently believes the anti-Talos Thalmor agenda so much that he considers Talos-worshipers to be "heathens". Not just rebels, heathens.)  
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**(Just in case anyone was wondering "you say you don't like the blurring of the lines between good and evil and yet you like _Game of Thrones_?" I'll be honest, i couldn't get into it on the first try. Yes, I tried reading the book as well as watching the series and kind of couldn't get into it. You know, the whole amoral characters as such. But then one post-Christmas vacation in Tahoe my brother and i are in the hotel room and we have HBO and i gave _Game of Thrones_ a second try. I think the Mad King's daughter Daenerys is interesting because she is a realistically strong character [her strength is not out of place, like we see in EVERY movie these days where the female lead just _has_ to be a warrior woman] and Jon Snow is the closest thing to an actually moral character [which, my guess, is why people hate him and think he's boring and say that he "knows nothing"]. And even though he's one of them damn dirty Lannisters, Tyrion is fun because of his intellect and debauchery [plus, he gets to slap Joffrey like the b*tch he is!])**


	23. The Great Schism

**(AN: One two three, guess what my next two words are going to be in the author's note? If you guessed "my brother", you are right! You win 100 gold [minus the Jarl's tithe] and the Heart of Lorkhan...use responsibly! Well, while typing the last chapter last night, my brother found out about what I was doing and he was pissed...mostly because I had Hrongar be all pro-Empire with his ruling of Whiterun. Um, he is. In his dialogue in-game, it is made clear that he does not agree with Proventus and believes that Whiterun's neutrality is a bad idea, that Balgruuf should be fighting the Stormcloaks. While he does not become Jarl in the game, that was cut content and so it is in the realm of semi-canon. I also feel like I shouldn't have to explain why Lethia hates Nords. Ysgramor drove out the Snow Elves from Skyrim, so obviously she's going to hate Nords. There is, however, one last Grey-Mane who is not dead. Well, there are two but the second one won't live very long [his death is told but not shown]. So it is possible that Clan Grey-Mane might survive. However, there is something very big happening in Whiterun, one that will see Eirik once again dealt a bad hand by fate.)**

**(Oh yes, welcome back, _Dany le fou_! Your absence has been noted and your review is quite welcome. I did kind of over-emphasize Ulfric's Unrelenting Force, call it artistic license if you will. But as far as knowledge of the Voice goes, Ulfric is only proficient in that one Shout in particular [if you believe the rumors, he also has Dragonborn Force which he used to shout Torygg apart], whereas Eirik has a plethora of Shouts from which to call [so far I've used Unrelenting Force, Fire Breath, Drain Vitality, Odahviing, Durnehvir, Dragonrend, Call of Valor, Clear Skies, Dragon Aspect, Bend Will, Cleanse - the one I invented cure Lethia - Whirlwind Sprint and Slow Time, and those are the only ones I can think of right now!]. So while Ulfric can shout people apart, Eirik can summon and ride dragons.)  
**

* * *

**The Great Schism**

In a blur, Eirik and Lydia had vanished from before the Hrongar, Clan Battle-Born and the soldiers in Dragonsreach. By the time his Thu'um had worn off, Eirik and Lydia were sloshing towards the back entrance of the Hall of Jorrvaskr. After they broke out of the doors of Dragonsreach, Eirik had leaped into the pool of water that shared the Cloud District with Dragonsreach, taking Lydia with him. Now they were both dripping wet as they made their way into Jorrvaskr, the Hall of the Companions. As soon as the door was thrust open, the Torvar the drunken Nord Companion swayed slightly in his seat.

"I must be more thought than I drunk I was!" he slurred, turning back to his tankard.

"Shor's bones," a Nord woman's voice said venomously. Eirik saw Njada Stone-Arm, a Nord Companion dressed in leather armor, with two others at her left and right. One was Ria, a small Colovian who was relatively new to the Companions, and the other was Athis, a Dunmer with flaming red hair. "You have some nerve showing your face in Jorrvaskr after what you've done."

"Njada," Eirik replied. "Please, now is not the time for this."

"You're a disgrace to this hall and a pox upon the Companions!" Njada retorted. "Was it not only last year when this milk-drinker walked into our hall and was permitted to eat, drink and fight with us? And what has become of it? Skjor is dead, Kodlak is dead and where are Vilkas, Farkas and Aela? Are they dead as well?"

"No," Eirik shook his head. "They are safe."

"You lie!" Njada retorted. "I can see it in your worthless brown eyes, milk drinker. They're not safe, are they? So tell me, how many more will die under your rule? Me? Ria? Athis? Torvar? Eorlund?"

"I'm not a ruler!" Eirik retorted. "I'm just the Harbinger."

"Who's very presence in this hall has led the Companions to misfortune," said Njada.

"Listen," Eirik began. "I won't trouble you any more. I need armor and a sword, that's all."

"And you thought you would get them if you just asked?" Njada retorted.

Just then, the doors of Jorrvaskr were thrust open and in came a short-haired Nord man out of breath with his clothes stained with blood and a look of horror on his face.

"Brill, what's happened?" Ria asked.

"Clan Grey-Mane is dead!" he cried.

"What?!" Njada asked angrily.

"It's true," Brill panted. "They were at Dragonsreach...and they were killed off...one by one. Vignar's mead was poisoned...then the guards stabbed Fralia and Olfina...sent guards...to kill...Avulstein...but Eorlund...Eorlund..."

"Eorlund what?" Njada asked. "Speak up, milk drinker!"

"He's dead as well," Eirik sighed. "I was there as well. He fell fighting the guards after the culling began."

"Do you see what this milk drinker has done to us?" Njada asked, turning to the others. "His very presence has brought ill-fortune upon the Companions. Skjor is dead, Kodlak is dead, Vilkas, Farkas and Aela are missing and now we hear that both Eorlund and Vignar Grey-Mane are dead? If we let him stay with us anymore, it will be the death of the Companions!"

"I didn't ask to be made Harbinger," Eirik said. "I didn't even know that was on Kodlak's mind."

"The White take Kodlak!" Njada retorted.

"Njada, please be reasonable," the Dunmer Athis interjected. "We cannot lay blame on either Eirik for what happened in Dragonsreach."

"That's true," Ria interjected. "If Kodlak made him Harbinger, then we shouldn't be fighting amongst ourselves."

"One might say that at the very end," Njada replied, breathing heavily from her risen tone of anger. "That Kodlak fell from wisdom into folly. His choice, to make this milk-drinking outsider our Harbinger is an insult to us all and must not be tolerated! Think, my shield-brothers and sisters! Before he came, none of our brothers and sisters came to harm. And even after the death of Kodlak and Skjor, while _he_ was away, no harm came to us." She turned to Eirik.

"Besides, who's to say what Kodlak really said?" she asked. "There is no proof that you were chosen specifically by Kodlak to be our Harbinger. I name you a pretender and banish you from Jorrvaskr from this day forth. _I_, Njada Oddvarsdottir, called Stone-Arm, claim the title of Harbinger by might and seniority!"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Ria spoke up. "We should wait for the others to return and then put to a vote if an appropriate replacement should be made."

"If we wait, it may be too late!" Njada replied. "There is no guarantee that Farkas and the others will return and if we keep him here, we will invite death upon us all!" She then stepped up to Eirik and then turned to Athis, Brill, Torvar and Ria. "If there are any who wish to stay in this hall and earn valor, honor and glory in the name of Mighty Ysgramor, stand behind me."

Torvar stood up, wavered on his feet for a moment, then staggered over to Eirik's side, practically throwing himself onto Lydia's arms. He turned towards Njada, who was looking at him with disapproval.

"I like this one," Torvar slurred, gesturing with his thumb to the back door of Jorrvaskr hall. "He knows how to fight."

Njada laughed. "A drunk, a milk-drinker and his servant! You'll die within a day of stepping out of Whiterun!"

"Hey, wait a minute!" Ria spoke up. "Eirik's been nothing but friendly to us all, even to you, Njada. I still think we should wait for the others to..."

"There can be no more waiting, Ria!" Njada replied. "No half-measures. Either you're with me or against me!"

"I'm with the Companions, Njada!" Ria replied. "Just like you. My oath was to my shield-brothers and shield-sisters, not to one man or woman."

"There is no middle ground!" Njada stated. "Either you honor your oath to your shield-brothers with me, or you dishonor that oath with them!"

Ria groaned in what was clearly frustration but said nothing. With head hung low, she crossed over to Eirik's side. There were now four on Eirik's side and Njada had only Athis and Brill.

"Who is outnumbered now?" Eirik asked.

"Awake!" Njada cried out in a loud voice. "Rise up, Companions! The hall is under siege! Honor calls you to defend the legacy of Ysgramor! To arms!"

Within moments, the hall was filled with new faces whom Eirik had either not noticed or not bothered to meet. Most of them were Nords, but he saw a Bosmer, two Redguards, several Colovians and at least one Khajiit. Just how many warriors there were here Eirik guessed numbered at least thirty. Njada turned to those who had arrived from the bunks below the hall and lifted her sword into the air.

"Drive them out of the hall!" she shouted. "They are banished from this place, never to return on pain of death."

"Okay, I'm starting to wonder if this was a good idea," Torvar slurred.

"Let's be off," Eirik said. "We're unarmed and I know when we're not wanted."

"Yes, that's right!" Njada taunted. "Run away like the cowardly milk-drinker you are! No need to test your mettle against a real warrior! Go and cry into your woman's t*ts because a real Nord sent you packing out of Jorrvaskr like a whipped dog!"

Eirik turned about and walked out of Jorrvaskr, with Lydia, Torvar and Ria in tow. He made his way to the Underforge, where he along with Mjoll and Lydia had escaped from Whiterun just a few weeks ago. Aside from witnessing the wholesale slaughter of the majority of Clan Grey-Mane, he had also witnessed his only position as a leader stripped from him without even as much as a fight. Furthermore, his feelings of failure and inadequacy which arose in the dungeons of Solitude rose again. Not only was he going forward towards his doom, it seemed, and the doom of the human race at the hands of the Thalmor, he had failed as Harbinger and had his titles, both as Thane of Whiterun and Harbinger of the Companions, stripped from him.

"You were right, Lydia," he said. "This was a trap."

"So what's the plan?" Torvar asked, tripping over a pebble on the road and leaning heavily on Eirik's shoulder.

"There is no plan," Eirik said at last. "Windhelm is besieged, the war will soon be over. I chose the losing side."

"Is that any reason to sulk, my thane?" Lydia asked. "Or did your youth growing up in Bruma leave you ignorant to the traditions of our people?"

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"A true warrior," Lydia said. "Fights on, even if his cause is lost. An eternity in Sovngarde is not earned on bended knee before an overwhelming host, but proud defiance against endless odds."

Eirik smiled grimly, then turned to Lydia. "You're right. Forgive me, Lydia, I...for a moment there, I forgot my heritage, the reality of my people." He turned to Ria and Torvar.

"We may lose," he said. "But we will_ never_ give in!"

"So?" Ria asked. "What _is_ the plan?"

"We wait for Vilkas, Farkas and Aela to return," Eirik said. "When they have returned, we will return to Jorrvaskr and judge who shall be Harbinger of the Companions."

"But can't we wait for them somewhere close to a battle?" asked Torvar.

"No," Eirik said. "I will not violate your traditions by forcing you to do battle in the civil war. If I wish to fight, then I will fight alone, and not under the flag of Ysgramor."

"Not alone, my thane," Lydia said. "You always have me with you."

"To the death?" Eirik asked.

"To Sovngarde and beyond!" Lydia replied proudly.

Eirik smiled. "Yes!" But just then, he happened to cast his eyes upward and saw Imperial guards rushing out of Dragonsreach. "Quickly, into the Underforge. We have to get out of Whiterun."

"And where will we be going, Harbinger?" Ria asked.

"Windhelm."

* * *

**(AN: Short when compared to the last chapter, but I didn't want to type out another eight thousand word chapter. I actually considered doing this early on, having the Companions split, or at least adding more to their number, before I decided on what would happen in the previous chapter. I mean, we do lose two very important and strong characters "early on", so bolstering their numbers would be something that should happen. And before someone complains, no, Njada is a Nord and she doesn't hate Eirik because he is a Nord, but because she feels that he has brought the Companions nothing but harm.)**

**(Some really good stuff happened, though that last line "To Sovngarde and beyond!" seems a bit cheesy in retrospect. It felt right at the time, considering that the two of them had technically gone beyond death [lol, Eirik had, at least, during the _Dawnguard_ portion of "The Dragonborn and the Lioness"]. Also, I realized that I referred to the dungeon in Castle Dour as the "dungeons of Solitude", which sound like some really cool DnD stuff right there. Yay, my interest in the story has risen! This will definitely mean more intent writing, though updates won't be as frequent since spring break ended.)**


	24. Siege of Windhelm

**(AN: One thing I want to say about the last chapter [and it has little, if anything, to do with my brother]. I actually started setting up some themes and conflicts in this story that will be resolved [hopefully] in this story. That's one of the reasons I got so enthusiastic about typing the last chapter, because I realized that I was doing something right. At least I hope I was.)**

**(And NOW is the complain about my brother section [well, i don't know anybody else who plays _Skyrim_ in real-life and my girlfriend just rolls her eyes every time i mention it]. Since at least one other of my reviewers is pro-Imperial, they will doubtless agree with him and love this chapter. My brother said that I'm being unfair to the Empire in that I made them out to be 'the bad guys' [all they ever really do is talk smack about Nords] and yet don't portray the Stormcloaks as drunken bandits. According to his belief, ALL rebellions are filled with opportunistic thugs who oppose the system and see the rebellion as a good way of getting out of justice, so naturally, all the Stormcloaks must be murderers, thieves, rapists, thugs, looters, vandals, arsonists, etc.)**

**(Thank you for all the reviews. It really helps get these chapters out swiftly. _quichwe10_, go back and read the chapters of this story which take place on Solstheim. And as for Thorald Grey-Mane, just read this chapter. _Dany le fou_, thank you once again. Balgruuf was deposed by Idolaf and Hrongar, who were going to start a coup of their own [it's featured early on, the whole rally in the market-square at night] when they heard that the Empire was mustering troops in Whiterun to "reinforce it" against the Stormcloaks since they believed the Stormcloaks violated the treaty and would attack here next since the "Stormcloaks" attacked Rorikstead which is in Whiterun Hold. So they made a deal with the Empire that they would let them in if they'd put Hrongar on the throne, since he is not neutral and would openly support the Empire. That's more inferred than plainly spoken, so I might just have to have a chapter where that gets fully explained or so. As for the Dark Brotherhood, I'm guessing it's just a contract since, as the DB-lovers would doubtless say, if Sithis wanted Eirik dead, he'd be dead. I feel that Eirik hasn't been through enough yet, but death is too much. And my brother would probably get pissed if I had Thalmor in High Hrothgar, because, despite the threat they pose, he is of the belief that they aren't as powerful as the game says, that they really don't have any influence outside of Skyrim and that the influence they have in Skyrim is overblown [he thinks the same way about Maven Black-Briar]. Oh well, on with the story.)  
**

* * *

**Siege of Windhelm**

Four people made their way out of Whiterun through the secret exit in the Underforge and carefully crept along the underside of the wall to the back-side of the stables. Two more horses were purchased and once again they rode as fast as they could eastwards. Eirik, Lydia, Torvar and Ria were once more on the run, going where Eirik had intended. Though, in truth, Eirik had little idea of what he would do if they arrived at Windhelm. He had no army with which to break the siege and half of those with him could not be allowed to engage in battle with either side. The only thing he had in mind was to charge the siege lines, shout them apart and ride towards the gates of Windhelm as fast as he could before he was cut down in a hail of arrows.

The day was young and they were able to make quite a bit of head-way over the land. By mid-afternoon, they had reached the snows of Eastmarch. Before them loomed the high mountains of Winterhold which formed the back-bone of Eastmarch Hold. High above they could see the peak of Mount Anthor, one of the highest mountains in the eastern range. But as they passed on eastward, they began to see signs of war. In the snow, there were many footprints that had not yet disappeared. So great was the number of foot-prints that discerning them was pointless. Though the sheer number of prints had obscured the type of prints, the four of them, even with as little tracking knowledge as they had, could tell where they came from and where they were going.

"Most of these are from the west," Ria stated. "I'm guessing they are from Dawnstar or Solitude."

"Hold on a second," Lydia added. She checked her horse, dismounted and led it over to another spot near where the road turned eastward. There she knelt down with one hand still on the reins of her horse. Eirik walked over to where she was kneeling.

"These ones are coming from the south," she added. "Probably from Riften."

"We'll have a fierce battle on our hands once we reach the walls of Windhelm," Ria said.

"You two aren't fighting," Eirik said.

"What?" Torvar asked. "I-I'm sorry, I'm not sure if I heard that correctly, I do have a damnable hangover. Maybe I didn't hear what you said."

"You heard me right," Eirik replied. "I won't violate the laws of the Companions. If I die, then you can go back to Njada and live in Jorrvaskr in peace and honor. There is no honor or glory at the end of this road. If we're lucky, a swift death and Sovngarde: if not, and it's likely we're not since we're fighting the Imperials, the end will not be one of honor."

Torvar and Ria mounted back up while Lydia walked over to Eirik.

"What is it?" he asked coldly.

"You don't have to do this," she said.

"Look who's talking," he added. "Just this morning you told me to charge head-long into Windhelm, crying 'Death or Sovngarde.'"

"Why not go looking for Mjoll?" Lydia asked.

"And where should I start looking?" Eirik turned about, eying his huscarl dead on. "Riften? Whiterun? Dawnstar? Falkreath? Four holds on the opposite ends of Skyrim, all of them owned by the Empire. There's..." He paused. "There's nothing I can do!"

"Well, don't abandon her!" Lydia replied. "At least do _something_!"

Eirik made no reply, but pulled himself back onto his horse. Lydia mounted up and followed after him, with the two Companions bringing up the rear. They rode on in tense silence, the only sound the cold winds from the east, the crunch of snow beneath their horses' hooves and a raven crying up above. After a while, Ria brought her horse along-side Lydia and spoke to her.

"Is he always like this?" she asked.

"Not usually," replied the huscarl. "He's usually a lot more level-headed about things. Now...something's not right if he'd rather charge to his death in Windhelm than go looking for his wife."

"Well can't you talk to him?" Ria asked.

"I can hear you back there," Eirik called back.

"We weren't saying anything, my thane," Lydia retorted.

Eirik shook his head but did not reply with words. He was too busy gazing at something that lay before him.

* * *

As the others brought their horses up along-side his, they all could see what it was that caught his attention. Before them the mountains opened up and there looked gray and blue the sea, endlessly roaring against the rocks, while the gulls cried afar off. Below them the path wandered downwards towards the icy bay, which was suddenly swallowed up in a host of grey, black and crimson surrounding the mouth of the bay. Before the host were the grey walls of Windhelm, the city of Ysgramor.

"At last..." he said to himself.

Faster than they had ever rode, Eirik and his comrades charged down the rest of the road towards Windhelm. The night was falling swiftly and he refused to be benighted ere he reached the gates of Windhelm. They rode on until the snow kicked up by the hooves of their horses swam about their knees. Swiftly the small host turned into a line of troops under the Red Diamond: the Imperial Legion. Eirik halted his horse at a hundred feet from the flanks of the Imperial siege camp and the outer lines of their armies. Those at the rear of the Imperial lines who saw their approach sent outriders to ward off what might possibly be another attack by the Stormcloaks.

"Follow me when you hear the burst of thunder," Eirik said, then kicked the flanks of his horse so hard that the horse bucked and reared up on its hind legs. Once the horse was back on all fours, it galloped towards the lines of the Imperial troops. No plan, no weapons, no armor, just one man against an entire army. The outriders came upon him but he did not even turn aside to notice them, holding onto the reins as his horse charged straight for the enemy lines. Just as the Imperial troops noticed that a rogue rider was coming from the rear, those troops in the rear turned to defend. But Eirik had a plan. Leaning aside, he looked towards the Imperial lines and shouted: "_**Fus...Ro**** Dah!**_"

Having gone so long without using his Thu'um, the sound of his voice startled even himself as he saw the Imperial troops being scattered like wind before him. It was indeed like the roar of thunder, sending snow, rocks, men and horses flying from before him. The power flowing from within through his Voice and mowing down all before him made Eirik feel alive again, as though he was once again doing what he needed to do.

Behind him, Lydia and the Companions watched as Eirik rode alone against the Imperial troops. Then there was the roar of thunder from the Voice and the lines broke, cleaving a path through the Imperial troops to just about thirty yards shy of the front-lines.

"Now that's what I like to see!" Torvar shouted, then kicked his horse into action, charging after the Harbinger. Behind him came Ria and Lydia, hoping to catch up to Eirik before the lines reformed.

In the gathering dark, all they could see were the torches of the Imperial lines. Here and there fires broke out where fire-pits and torches were knocked down and thrown into tents in the confusion following the use of the Voice upon the Legion. In their light Lydia and the Companions charged towards the rear of the front-lines, where Eirik was galloping through frenetically. Many of the soldiers in his way were throwing themselves out of the way of his horse, and those unlucky slow ones were trampled under-hoof. At last he came to the line of shields near the edge of the bay. He was almost out of the lines: a short gallop across the great stone bridge and Eirik would be safely inside the walls of Windhelm. But suddenly his horse reared up on its hind legs, unable to break through the shields from behind. He laughed at them, feeling once again the power of the Voice within him.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" he shouted.

The line of shields and pickets in front of them were thrown aside like chaff in the wind, falling helplessly into the mouth of the White River below. Again he kicked the shins of his horse and continued off towards the bridge. How long he would be able to go before they started firing at him he did not know. Behind him, however, he could hear the sound of horses and, quickly looking back, he saw Lydia and the others riding through the Imperial lines after him. He swore under his breath, but did not turn back to order them back. To pause even for a moment now would give the Legion an open target. Beyond, the bridge had only two points where he could be safe from their archers, but he could not trust on that alone.

On and on he rode down the stone bridge, the cold wind off the sea biting the right side of his face. So great were the winds that he closed his right eye against the bite, keeping his left eye trained on the bridge and the walls and, hopefully, the gate. He passed the second arch and, just under the shadow of the first arch, the one nearest the gate, he turned back. Behind him he saw Lydia and Torvar and Ria galloping swiftly towards him. But the Imperial soldiers had reformed ranks and their captains had given the order to fire upon the new-comers faster than Eirik had anticipated. Arrows began striking among them, many of them skittering harmlessly off the stones of the bridge.

Suddenly at the rear of the group, Lydia and Torvar's horses were shot out from under them by sure-fired arrows as they neared the second arch. Both of them fell onto the stone bridge as the horses writhed in pain. Swearing loudly, Eirik dismounted and ran as fast as he could between the first and second arches. Ria came riding after him, but he ignored her, instead running towards the others. The first he saw was Torvar, pushing himself onto his feet painfully.

"Can you walk?" Eirik asked.

"I think so," he groaned. "Damn! That horse was heavy! Feels like I broke my leg!"

Eirik then turned to his right, looking for Lydia and, to his horror, saw her lying against the wall of the arch. Running to her side, he saw that she did not move not recognize his approach and the side of her head was bleeding. He picked her up, wrapping one arm of hers around his shoulder, while he tried to make it through to the first arch, right in the way of the Imperial archers.

"Torvar!" Eirik shouted, holding out his left hand. "Hold onto me! I'm going to see if I can do this." As soon as he felt Torvar's filthy hand seize his own, he shouted once again. "_Wuld!_"

He passed between the second and first arches in what appeared to be a whirlwind, but at that moment, as he was slowing down, an arrow that would have skittered harmlessly on the pavement had he ran thither, struck him in the back just as he was coming out of his whirlwind sprint. He collapsed into the shadow of the first arch just as Ria turned around to see what had caused the sudden rush of wind. She got off her horse and tried to drag them into the shade, but, due to her small frame, was only able to pull Torvar to safety. Lydia was still not moving and Eirik could barely stand with an arrow in his back.

"Must..." Eirik groaned against the pain in his back. "Get...to the gate!"

"Help him!" Ria shouted to Torvar.

The Nord drunk took Eirik's arm onto his shoulder while Ria removed Lydia from Eirik's shoulders and the four of them limped or walked the rest of the way to the gate. Some of the Imperials continued firing, and they heard with terror the plunking of arrows in the water. Sooner or later they would start hitting something else. As they approached the gate, Eirik strained to lift up his head and speak as loud as painfully possible.

"Let me pass!" he shouted. "I am Eirik Dragonborn, son of Skyrim and sworn into the service of Ulfric Stormcloak! Let me pass!"

For a long period of time, the soldiers ran the news back and forth until at last someone behind the gates gave the order for them to be opened. They did not open all the way, for there was still a siege going on, but it was wide enough that a man could get through. As they did, Eirik called for help. Several Stormcloak soldiers appeared and helped drag them into the gate and behind the safety of the walls. As soon as they were thrown in and the guards collected the two horses that had survived, the gates were shut and on the walls above Stormcloak archers started taking shots at the horse company which some Imperial commander foolishly sent to capture the blockade runners. They returned to the safety of the shield line in tatters, having lost a third of their troop and not capturing the daring newcomers.

* * *

"Alright," one of the Stormcloak soldiers said to the newcomers once the gates were closed. "You're inside. Now who exactly are _you_? We weren't expecting any reinforcements coming from the west."

"I am Ria of the Companions," said the young Imperial. "I...my lord, the Harbinger of the Companions, Eirik who calls himself Dragonborn, wanted to come here. Though, beyond that, I don't really have any idea."

"Dragonborn, eh?" the soldier replied. "I've heard stories about the Dragonborn. It's said that the Dragonborn is the greatest warrior of Skyrim, that he has the heart and soul of a dragon and can destroy them like the Tongues of old did. And who is this you bring with you? Some beggar with an arrow in his back. Hardly the likeness of a great warrior."

"You caught me...argh!" Eirik groaned. "At a disadvantage, kinsman. My sword and armor were stolen from me and I barely escaped the prison in Solitude with my life."

"Is that a fact?" the soldier scoffed. "But no true Nord would allow himself to lose his armor and sword, let alone be captured. A true Nord would sooner die than suffer the indignation of prison."

"Look," Eirik groaned. "We can discuss this later. Tell Ulfric that I am here! He-argh, shite! He will vouch for me."

"Is that right?" the Stormcloak replied. "A bold claim for a milk-drinker like you. If you're looking to waste his time, there are some fine cells in the Palace of the Kings that will be more than happy to accommodate the likes of you!"

"We don't need the Jarl," Ria retorted. "We need a healer, an alchemist! Quickly!"

"Find 'em yourself," the soldier replied.

"I will make certain," Eirik panted, gazing angrily at the Stormcloak soldier. "That Ulfric hears of this."

"Go ahead then, milk-drinker," he retorted, holding out his arms in a challenging gesture. "I dare you to squeal for him! I double dare you, elf-loving scum!"

Upset over this soldier's impertinence and angered more by reason of his hurt, Eirik swung at the soldier, staggering him with a blow to the head that broke the side of his leather helmet. Suddenly there were cries and more Stormcloak soldiers gathered around in a ring, cheering and raising their weapons as they kept back for the two brawlers. Ria, Torvar and Lydia seemed to be forgotten in the fray as a wounded Eirik tried to hold his own against a now enraged soldier. The soldier sent a kick to Eirik's groin, sending him sprawling to his knees, after which he began pounding fist upon fist onto his back until a large thing with a bear's head on his own came and pushed them both aside.

"What the fuck is this supposed to be?" a loud Nord's voice roared bear-like. "There is no honor in brawling with a wounded man, _and_ he is a kinsman!"

"Fuck you, Galmar Stone-Fister!" the soldier retorted.

"What did you call me?" roared Galmar.

"You heard me!" the soldier replied, holding his arms out in similar gesture of challenge.

"There is still a law in Windhelm!" roared Galmar.

"The fuck are you talking about laws, child-killer?" the soldier retorted. "We're rebels! There _is_ no law here!" All the soldiers around cheered.

"By Talos," roared Galmar. "There is still a law in this city and you will return to your post, kinsman!"

"Make me!" the soldier replied. "I dare you!"

Galmar struck the soldier down with his fist in one blow, then stepped on his neck with his boot, keeping him pinned as he looked up at the others.

"If the Empire saw this right now," he said. "They would be laughing their asses off! They'd take the city with this kind of behavior from you lot! If you want to live, you'll get back to your posts! There's still a war to be fought!"

Many of the soldiers were shouting threats and insults at Galmar as they parted, but the large Nord turned instead to Eirik and when he saw his face, he gasped.

"Shor's bones, you _are_ the Dragonborn!" he said. "I remember you from Ivarstead. What are you doing like this? Where is your armor? Your sword?"

"It's a long story," Eirik groaned.

"Well, then, there will be time to hear it all," Galmar stated. "But only once we've gotten you together. I'll send for Oengul and Nurelion. They will see you right. Once you're done, report to the Bloodworks in the Palace of the Kings and you can tell me the rest."

Galmar called for a soldier and told them to take Eirik to the White Phial in the market district as well as to wake Oengul War-Anvil from the Blacksmith's Quarters. Ria and Torvar, carrying Lydia, followed Eirik thither and soon enough they were inside the White Phial, an alchemist's shop run by a rather stuffy looking Altmer called Nurelion. Eirik would have protested under normal circumstances, but he was in too much pain, both from the arrow and from the brawl, to care much at the moment. As Nurelion began examining Eirik, he sent his apprentice, a Colovian named Quintus, to examine Lydia.

"Hmm," Nurelion mused as he examined Eirik's back. "An Imperial arrow. You really are as stupid as you look, trying to run the blockade." The elf suddenly coughed loudly, holding a handkerchief to his mouth as he did so. The young man Quintus came to his side, placing an arm around the elf's shoulders, but Nurelion swatted him away. "Still, the arrow's bite is not very deep. Yes, I don't think it will be fatal. Once we've gotten that arrow out and that brute Oengul has seared the wound, you should be fine." He turned to Quintus. "Fetch me a cloth." The young man nodded, then Nurelion turned back to Eirik. "Would you like a strong drink or perhaps a sleeping potion?"

"Mead," Eirik roared. "Fetch me mead. It's been too long since I've drunk anything with balls!"

"Typical Nord response," Nurelion sneered. "But it will do."

"What about my huscarl?" Eirik asked.

"It looks like a rather nasty blow to the head," said Nurelion. "I can bind the wound, maybe apply some poultices to stop infection, not that you'd know what that is, but whether or not she will survive is debatable."

"Gods willing she survives," Eirik breathed.

"If she survives," Nurelion retorted. "It won't be because of _your_ gods, it will be because of _my_ skill! Now still you still while I find some mead. This is an apothecary, you know, not a tavern!"

All too soon Quintus returned with a cloth, which was stuffed into Eirik's mouth as Nurelion seized the arrow and pulled it out of Eirik's flesh. Eirik roared into the cloth, biting it so hard that his teeth tore through the fabric. When at last Oengul, a bald elderly Nord with a grey beard, arrived with a red hot poker, Eirik closed his eyes and drank from the bottle of mead that had been procured for him.

"Hey, don't drink all of that!" Torvar interjected. "That's some fine 191 by the smell of it! Would be a shame to waste."

Before Eirik could finish the bottle, Oengul had thrust the poker into Eirik's flesh, searing the wound shut. He roared again, dropping the bottle and slamming his fist upon the wall near at hand. When at last the wound was closed, Nurelion began adding something that, while not nearly as painful as before, stung his back.

"Argh!" Eirik shouted. "What are you doing?"

"I have to clean the wound," Nurelion explained. "Then I'll apply linen bandages to keep out infection. It will be a while until you fully heal, so try to keep off your feet. Doubtless walking or any strong movements will cause you great pain." He turned to his apprentice. "Well, what are you standing there for? Bind that woman's head!"

Moments later, Nurelion had finished his worse and both Eirik and Lydia were bound: he about the middle of his chest and she about the head. Eirik could move though every movement above the waist caused him great pain. He then told them that it was late and he was a very busy man and that they should leave. With Ria carrying Lydia, Torvar and Oengul helped Eirik out of the White Phial and into the streets.

"Can you help us?" Torvar asked. "That bear-skin told us we're to go to the Bloodworks after here."

"That's to the Palace of the Kings, just north of here," Oengul replied. "You can't miss it."

"Thank you, Master War-Anvil," Eirik breathed.

"Which way did you come from?" Oengul asked. "If you don't mind me asking. It wouldn't happen to be from Whiterun, would it?"

"Aye, we did come from Whiterun," Eirik replied.

"Any news on Eorlund Grey-Mane's smith work?" asked Oengul. "They say he's the greatest blacksmith in all of Skyrim. Bah! I plan to change a few minds about that statement."

"Alas," Eirik said. "The hammer of Eorlund Grey-Mane will sound upon the anvil of the Skyforge in Whiterun no more. He is dead. All of Clan Grey-Mane is dead." Eirik paused for a moment to let those words sink in, as well as what Oengul had said regarding Eorlund. One of the greatest, if not _the_ greatest, smith in all of Skyrim was now dead.

Oengul paused and turned to Eirik. "Is this so? How did they die? Did Eorlund die in battle?"

"Aye," Eirik said, nodding his head. "He did, died fighting to protect his family as they were slaughtered before his eyes."

"Then may he forge the weapons of the warriors of Sovngarde for all time," Oengul sighed. "Thorald will want to hear about this."

"Who?" Eirik asked, the name slowly coming to mind upon hearing it again.

"Thorald Grey-Mane," said Oengul in reply. "He came here on the thirteenth of Morning Star last month and took the oath. He spends most of his time in the Bloodworks, that's the barracks, where Hermir and I take the weapons we make."

"Who's Hermir?" Eirik asked.

"That would be my apprentice, Hermir Strong-Heart," he replied. "She works the forge with me, though she'd rather be on the battlefield fighting for Ulfric Stormcloak, or in the Palace of the Kings sucking his..."

"I think I understand," Eirik groaned. "Can you show us the way to the Bloodworks? I'm told to report there..."

"I'll take you there," Oengul replied. "I feel that Thorald should know what has happened to his family."

"What about my huscarl?" Eirik asked, looking towards where Torvar and Ria held Lydia.

"Come along, then," he said to them. "The streets of Windhelm are not safe at night, especially these days."

"Why is that?" Eirik asked as he hobbled after Oengul, with the others taking up the rear.

"Well, this siege for one thing," Oengul began. "It started early this month, when word came from the outlying camps that the Imperial Legion were marching north and east. About nine days ago, we watched as a group bearing the Stormcloak colors and gear attacked the Imperial siege camps, disrupting their supply lines. They came to Windhelm and took up residence in the Bloodworks with the rest of the troops. Since then, it is hardly safe to walk the streets of Windhelm anymore. The newcomers pick fights with anyone, be it elf or man, and they loot when they can't get enough food for themselves.

"Four days ago, the Imperials finally closed the circle around Windhelm from the mountains to the bay. Three days ago they tried to take the city but suffered heavy losses. Our walls have stood since the time of Ysgramor, there is little that can bring them down. And the Empire had no siege engines. Yesterday, when they attacked again, they did. A fleet attacked from the sea while the armies on land fired volley after volley upon us. The Stone Quarter and the Grey Quarter are in ruins. Riots have been breaking out over food shortages in the city, and the dark elves in the Grey Quarter are restless."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Many in the city," Oengul continued. "Say that they're offering aid to the Imperials, or stealing from our food supplies. The guards are busy with the fighting and the riots that they tend to ignore whatever is going on down there, and it is making the elves agitated."

"As they should be!" a voice declared.

Near at hand they saw an old bald Nord with a long grey beard, dressed in leather armor with a heavy fur cloak wrapped about his shoulders.

"We're not here for a sermon, master Free-Winter," Oengul said. "This one is to report to the Jarl."

"Aye, the Jarl who cares nothing for his own people," said Brunwulf. "Is it any wonder the Dunmer balk at the persecution they receive at the hands of the bear? They've been walled up in the 'Grey' Quarter for far too long, treated like cattle! All of Skyrim was once the land of the elves, should we not open our doors to the Dunmer without condition or persecution?"

"That's all fine talk, master Free-Winter," Oengul interjected. "But you don't say nothing about the Argonians living on the docks."

"The lizard-people?" Brunwulf retorted. "It is better that they remain in the Argonian Assemblage. Too much bad blood between Dunmer and Argonians to allow them to live peacefully together."

"What about the cat-folk of elsewhere?" Oengul asked. "I suppose they shouldn't be allowed in Windhelm either, eh?"

"Go back to your anvil, war-mongering fool!" Brunwulf said. "The weapons you forge will do nothing to stop what is inevitable."

Brunwulf walked away while Oengul continued leading them to the Palace of the Kings. As they entered the courtyard, a group of soldiers appeared, led by Galmar Stone-Fist who had just recently returned from the front gates. When he saw Eirik, he nodded, then ordered the gates to be opened. They hobbled into the hall, which was filled with bear-skin clad captains and Stormcloak soldiers hurrying about the hall. Some were giving orders, some were carrying on at the banquet table and others were gathered about the throne at the back of the hall, where sat Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm.

"As I was saying," Oengul continued. "The elves have been restless ever since yesterday, when the second assault failed. We had more than a few ships of our own in the harbor and they were not expecting that: that's the good news. The bad news is that their ships dropped off another host which has joined with the besiegers. Now their numbers have swollen while ours have decreased."

"My lord!" Eirik cried out.

"Don't bother," Oengul replied. "He's busy. He has no time to speak with any of us."

"That's probably why Brunwulf Free-Winter was so upset," Ria pointed out.

Eirik sighed. "Fine. Just get me to the Bloodworks. I will speak with Ulfric later."

It was not difficult to find their way to the Bloodworks. Right of the banquet table they found a door leading downward from which quite a bit of loud noise was echoing therefrom: noise of song and revelry. Oengul placed Eirik against the door and then turned as though he would leave.

"You're going?" Eirik asked.

"The Bloodworks are no place for anyone in Windhelm these days," Oengul said grimly.

"You could have told us that before we came down here!" Torvar stated.

"This is where the rest of the soldiers are," Oengul said, gesturing to the door. "Those who aren't on duty. Not very many of them, but the new band take up berth here. I have to supply them with weapons and armor, since they've 'claimed' to be Stormcloak soldiers, so don't worry. I'll have Hermir come around with the weapons and see how you're doing. Gods be with you, kinsman."

Oengul departed as Eirik and the others made their way down into the Bloodworks. Eirik leaned against the wall as walking was still very painful for him. When they finally reached the barracks, what Eirik saw surprised and dismayed him both at once. From wall to wall there were Stormcloak soldiers, most of them not in uniform, drinking and singing and screwing the odd tavern wench here and there, many of whom Eirik had not seen in Windhelm the first time he had arrived. None of them looked like battle-hardened warriors, or even pretended to be alert and even more so, they were all Nords.

It took Eirik quite a while to find the one man among them who was roughly his own age but had silvery-white hair, whom he had remembered from Northwatch Keep. Having found him, he tried to make his way over to him. The press of people about him was thick and none of them particularly liked having someone butt into them. He had not passed a few feet into the hall when his face was splattered in beer.

"Piss off, milk-drinker!" a Nord cried.

"I'm a Stormcloak, just like you," Eirik replied. "I just mean to..."

The Nord mocked Eirik's words, eliciting loud roars of laughter from those at his table, then rose up to his feet, showing that he towered over Eirik.

"True Nords don't ask for nothing," he said. "They take it. So why don't you try and take some-fink from me?"

"I just want to pass," Eirik groaned.

"Then pass me," the Nord retorted. "I dare you, milk-drinker!"

While Eirik was trying to pass the large Nord, another had stepped over to Torvar and Ria and reached for Lydia.

"Wonder why this one's sleeping," he said. "Still, she's warm. Should be good for a ride or two."

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Eirik retorted.

"Well, what are you gonna do if I wanna, huh?" the Nord asked. "You ain't got no sword and I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Suddenly someone struck Eirik on the back of the head, sending him sprawling forward into the Nord blocking his path, who pushed him back into another who struck him in the back, right where he had been hit.

"You ain't nothin', milk-drinker!" one of the Nords shouted. "My wife hits harder than you do!"

"Come on, harbinger!" Torvar said to Eirik. "Shout them apart like you did the Imperial lines!"

"I can't take them all on," Eirik groaned.

"Of course the wee little milk-drinker can't," laughed another Nord, kicking Eirik in the groin. "Go back to your mother's t*ts, milk-drinker! This is a place for _real_ men!"

"Yeah," the first Nord said. "So what are you doing here, milk-drinker?"

"I'll send you crying back to your mother!" the second one said.

It all happened so fast. Someone pulled Eirik aside just as the second Nord took a swing at him, hitting the first one in the face and starting a fight. While those onlookers were now jeering and cheering each side on, having completely forgotten those they were assaulting, Torvar and Ria had managed to free themselves and Lydia from the fray as Eirik was being led towards the back of the hall. When he was finally thrown onto a bed, he saw who it was who had been his rescuer: a Nord roughly his own age with silver-blond hair and no beard.

"I remember you," Eirik said. "It's not been but a few weeks since Northwatch Keep, hasn't it?"

"Aye, that it has," said Thorald Grey-Mane. "I've been meaning to repay you for what you've done. A Grey-Mane does not forget his debts." Eirik looked into the crowd, trying to see if the others had escaped the fray. There was no sign of them and his wound was aching once again, so he remained where he sat.

"What brings you to Windhelm, friend?" Thorald asked. "Have you come to help the Stormcloaks?" Eirik sighed: though Thorald could not hear him sigh, he could see his face fall. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, my friend," Eirik said. "I bring you bad news."

"What could be worse than this?" Thorald asked. "We're besieged and Windhelm is overrun by thugs because we're outnumbered and any help counts!"

Eirik looked out upon those dressed in Stormcloak garb before him in the Bloodworks. Whichever of them were bandits or Stormcloak soldiers he could not guess. They were all reveling, drinking, laying wenches, fighting and singing. None of them seemed ready for a siege or even alert. The Imperial Legion were at least a little more alert and responded to his charge into their ranks, whereas the Stormcloaks seemed to be doing the exact opposite.

"I mean," Thorald continued. "We left our homes, risked death and certain imprisonment all because we believed that Skyrim should be free, that our destinies shouldn't be governed by some emperor hundreds of miles away in the south or even elves thousands of miles away in the west, and this is what we're greeted by? Half of the Stormcloak soldiers here are as bad as the bandits."

"You sound like you regret your decision to join," Eirik said.

"No, I don't regret it," said Thorald. "Ulfric has the right of it. Our people deserve a future free from elvish or Imperial oppression, but not like this."

Eirik lowered his head, unwilling to look upon his people before him behaving exactly as Crixus had predetermined. These were not elves, these were not Bretons, Khajiit or Argonians or Imperials, these were Nords, his own people. He could almost hear Crixus' mocking laughter ringing in his ears, hear his self-righteous, arrogant Colovian drawl say "I told you so!" His chest began to sting with pain, but it was not the pain of his wound. He felt stifled inside the barracks of the Bloodworks, as if all the sins of his people combined with the horrible news he had to tell Thorald was suffocating him. He was educated in Bruma, he knew of a better way than this to live.

"Let's go someplace quieter," Eirik said.

Thorald led Eirik down into the dungeons beneath the Bloodworks. As they were walking down, they saw three Nords in Stormcloak gear flailing a Dunmer woman's bare back with iron-tongued scourges. He pulled one of them away and turned to the others.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"This here dark elf needs to be punished," one of the Stormcloaks said.

"What crime has she committed?" Eirik asked.

"Heh!" the second one interjected. "Like them dark elves need to do anything to deserve a floggin'!"

"They've been stealin' our supplies," said the first soldier. "Takin' 'em away to the Grey Quarter and leavin' us with rotten food!"

"Where is your proof?" Eirik asked.

"We don't need no proof," said the third soldier, the one Eirik had thrown to the floor. "They're dark elves! They don't pay no taxes, they eat our food, come where they ain't wanted and refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"

"Find me proof of their crime," Eirik said. "And I'll scourge her myself. But don't punish her for no crime."

"Elf-lover," one commented under his breath.

"I would do the same," Eirik stated. "For any kinsman, were they in her position." Eirik hobbled over to the wall and unfastened the shackles from off the elf's wrists, freeing her.

"Do you need help returning home?" he asked.

"Don't touch me, snow-back!" the elf retorted angrily, snatching up her torn dress and walking out of the room, glaring at all of them with distrust in her eyes before leaving. The others followed her back out of the dungeon, saying something about there being fewer elf-lovers in the Bloodworks. Once the room was clear, Eirik turned to Thorald.

"You have nothing to say about this?" Eirik asked.

"The dark elves _should_ take a side in this war," said Thorald. "For almost two hundred years they've been allowed to live in Skyrim free of our laws and free of our responsibilities. Why should they be exempt from the war that affects everyone from Windhelm to Markarth?"

"I've seen the way they treat Nords in Blacklight and Solstheim," Eirik said. "It seems they hate us as much as we hate them. What do you say to that?"

"That if they join our enemies," Thorald replied. "Or declare war on us as Talos knows they've done in ages past, we should kick them in the arse as they deserve, not spend time whining over whether it's the right thing to do or not like those Battle-Borns."

"Yes," Eirik said grimly, nodding his head. "The Battle-Borns. That is part of the bad news I bring you."

"What have they done this time, hmm?" Thorald asked. "Idolaf and I grew up in the streets of Whiterun: I know his family members by name and while he might be happy to shout the Empire's elf-driven dogma with all those Imperial septims in his purse..."

"Thorald, your family is dead." Eirik spoke.

The five words he said seemed to shatter the air in the dungeons of Windhelm.

"What?" Thorald asked.

"I believe the Battle-Borns orchestrated it," Eirik replied.

"I-I don't believe you," Thorald returned. "I can't! I know Idolaf! He might be a sore loser and an opinionated bastard at times, but he's no murderer!"

"Oh, he didn't do any of the killing," Eirik said. "He sat by and laughed while your family died."

"How?" Thorald asked, his voice quivering with sorrow. "How did they die?"

"Vignar died first," Eirik said. "There was poison in his cup. The...Whiterun is in the hands of the Empire now, they had soldiers all over Dragonsreach. They must have been part of this, because one of the guards stabbed Olfina in the back, then they cut Fralia's throat. But Eorlund..." He made a sound that was part sigh and part proud laugh but sounded like a sob. "...he refused to go down without a fight. He took several with him but he was overwhelmed in the end."

Eirik could see the sorrow in Thorald's eyes. He did not even try to hide that tears were flowing down his face, slowing but surely. His hands also were shaking and, for a moment, Eirik knew how he felt. Guilt filled his person as he realized that, instead of looking for Mjoll upon returning to Skyrim and gaining his freedom, he had thrown himself haphazardly towards the thick of the war. He wondered how _he_ would feel if it was Thorald telling him that Mjoll had died.

"And Avulstein?" Thorald asked, his voice heavy with emotion. "Where is my brother?"

"I heard that he was killed by the guards as well," Eirik said.

Thorald did not even try to hide it as he broke down in tears. His entire family was dead, with himself being the last of Clan Grey-Mane. Without a second thought, Eirik walked over to Thorald and embraced him. Thorald buried his face in Eirik's shoulder and wept aloud. As Eirik began to realize that, for all he knew, Mjoll and their child might be dead as well for all he knew and that he had abandoned them, he broke down and wept with him.

* * *

**(AN: Well, someone out there must hate me because now my brother's laptop has also died, which means i have no way of writing this story on my spare time, it HAS to be at either the library or the college [the library has a new computer usage time system which screws up writing at all, so meh]. Also, this chapter, while definitely your favorite, was not fun to write at all. It appeals to the Imperial fan-boys, yes, and will make them stop talking about unfair depictions, yes, but it has shot one of my points in the foot! The point being that people should be allowed to protect themselves from any threat, foreign or domestic, without being labeled a "bigot" just because. That's one reason I love the Viking/Dark Ages as well as high fantasy. But that is not the case with _Elder Scrolls_, particularly _Morrowind_ where Dunmer racism is totally acceptable but then in _Skyrim_ suddenly the Nords animosity towards the Dunmer is viewed in a negative light? Why? Because the Nords are white and therefore, as is the modern belief, white people are inherently evil. FUCK THAT SHIT!)**

**(-sigh- I've also tried to give Eirik some character development as far as what is happening in the story that doesn't involve pandering to my brother and the majority of you reviewers and tumblr _Skyrim_ fans. It will be resolved somewhat later on, so don't worry.)  
**


	25. An Unexpected Turn of Events

**(AN: Okay, now that I gave you that chapter, here is the next big shock that I have planned.)**

**(I have a question for my reviewers in two parts. 1] have any of you read _The Hero with a Thousand Faces_ by Joseph Campbell? And 2] if you have, can any of you show me how the story of the Nerevarine and the Hero of Kvatch conform to the monomyth of Campbell's "hero with a thousand faces"? I had no trouble doing that with _Skyrim_, but i don't see how i can apply that to _Morrowind_ and _Oblivion_. Of course [and while i didn't have an open complaint about him, you knew this was coming] my brother didn't see the point in trying to fit everything into archetypes. Personally, it gave me a system by which i could successfully tell the story of the Dragonborn in "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", and i might be able to respect what was done in those two games if they were a bit more adherent to Campbell's model [but considering as how _Morrowind_ was written by Michael "fuck it" Kirkbride, it probably wouldn't adhere to Campbell's model at all])**

* * *

**An Unexpected Turn of Events**

Moments later, while both Eirik and Thorald were in deep sorrow, the sound of footsteps pounding down the steps into the Windhelm dungeons was heard. Turning, Eirik saw Torvar and Ria carrying Lydia with them and a young woman with dark hair clad in iron armor similar in fashion to that which he had seen Mjoll wear when they first met.

"Which one of you is the Dragonborn?" the young woman asked.

Torvar gestured to Eirik and the young woman approached him. Eirik saw that her face was dirty from working in the blacksmith's forge, as well as bore a few cuts and bruises from what he guessed was the chaos of the Bloodworks.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said. "Wounded as you are with your huscarl in this condition. Master Oengul told me to find you here, but you ran all the way to the dungeons!"

"I'm sorry," Eirik said, wiping his face of the tears. "I needed to speak to Thorald Grey-Mane privately."

"Well that almost cost me more than I'd want to say," the young woman said.

"Are you Hermir?" Eirik asked.

"Aye," she replied. "Master Oengul sent me to see how you fared."

"I'm still alive," Eirik mused. "But how did you know I am the Dragonborn?"

"We heard your Voice when you broke through the Imperial blockade," Hermir said. "Only one other person has that power, and he sits on the throne of Windhelm safe behind our walls. Though, to be truthful, _that_ cold stone chair is a disgrace to him! He should sit upon the throne of the High King, as is his right."

"Words alone won't put him there," Eirik said dolefully.

"But our steel will," Hermir added. "And that's what I intend to do by working with Oengul at the forge. Besides, I get to see Ulfric up close."

"Tell him we're well," Eirik said. "Or at least as well as anyone can be in this chaos. Now go and tell him that." But as Hermir was turning to leave, Eirik added. "I need weapons and armor. Do you have any with you?"

"No," Hermir retorted. "Those I had were for the brigands in the Bloodworks."

"Then tell Oengul to send me something," Eirik added. "A sword, a great-sword, and a suit of steel armor, nothing too heavy or cumbersome like those kettles they had two hundred years ago in Cyrodiil."

"Of course not," Hermir said. "Will there be anything else?"

"I suppose it's too much to ask for food," Torvar interjected.

"Actually, it is," Hermir retorted. "The siege has really taken its toll on us."

"Then go, be gone with you," Eirik said wearily. "I'm weary and need to sleep."

Hermir left and the five of them were left in the dungeons as an awkward silence fell between them all. Thorald said nothing but walked over to a corner where he secluded himself from the others. Torvar then went into the cells and brought out at least two blankets that were not lousy or thread-bare and gave them to Eirik and Ria to sleep on. Eirik walked over to Lydia and placed the blanket over her and then turned to Torvar, who was on his way up the stairs.

"You're going back in there?" he asked.

"That's where all the drink's at!" laughed Torvar as he disappeared into the Bloodworks.

* * *

Night passed in Windhelm while Eirik, Lydia, Ria, Thorald and Torvar slept in the Palace of the Kings. Torvar had passed out after another lengthy binge of drinking in the Bloodworks, seemingly unharmed by the fray of brawling, while the others slept in the dungeons. When Ria noticed that Thorald was shivering, she gave him the blanket he had given to them while she slept near Eirik and Lydia in their corner of the dungeon. From Blacklight to Solitude to Windhelm, they were still sleeping in dungeons. While here they were more or less free, they were not at liberty to go where they would due to the siege.

Throughout the night, Eirik had great difficulty falling asleep. His mind was filled with renewed fears over Mjoll's whereabouts as well as doubts over his own worth as the Dragonborn. All he had managed to do by coming to Windhelm was throw himself into a situation in which there could be no victory or even survival. Usually this would not have been an issue for him, but now that he had a life waiting for him, he wondered if it was right to throw himself haphazardly into danger? Even more so, he wondered why he was feeling such. Was it because he really felt an attachment for Mjoll, though they had barely known each other for a year, or was it because of his time in Bruma?

When sleep finally closed his eyes, he did not dream. When he awoke at last, he heard men shouting orders and weapons clashing. Wearily he rose from his place and saw that the others were awake with weapons in their hands: all save for Lydia, she was still unconscious. Though he had no weapon, Eirik ran up the stairs and saw that the Bloodworks were all but empty. Blood, beer, bones, bits of food, broken plates and cups and torn clothes were all that remained of last night's revelry. Eirik followed the next flight of stairs up to the palace and saw that the Stormcloaks were now all arrayed before the doors in their gear, with swords, axes, maces and shields at the ready. As Eirik looked at this in perplexity, Galmar suddenly called out to and approached him.

"Where is your sword, kinsman?" he asked. "We're under attack!"

"Has the assault begun?" Eirik asked.

"No," Galmar retorted. "This is some devilry at the hands of those in the Grey Quarter. Early this morning we awoke to find that several fires had broken out in what was left of the Stone Quarter. Many of the city guards had been slain and a group of dark elves attacked the Palace. Too many of our men threw down their weapons in surrender, the cowards!"

"They're attacking us?" Eirik asked.

"They waited until we were beleaguered and besieged," said Galmar. "To put a dagger in our backs." He turned to those at the door. "Hold your ground, sons of Skyrim! Don't let those bastards take this city!"

The door shook as though a ram had struck it. Again there was another blast and again the door shook. Eirik made his way to the throne, where stood Ulfric Stormcloak, clad in armor with a sword in his hand. When he saw Eirik, he approached him with a disapproving glare in his eyes.

"I hold you responsible for this, Dragonborn," he said.

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"We had those Imperial bastards by the balls," Ulfric said. "And then you handed victory over to them on a silver platter!"

"If it wasn't for me," Eirik retorted angrily. "Alduin would have destroyed you all!"

"But the Empire didn't care for any peace treaty, did they?" Ulfric asked. "They used it to bide time as they took through guile what they couldn't take at the bargaining table or by force. Now we all will pay for your short-sightedness!"

"I refuse to be a pawn to the Thalmor!" Eirik retorted.

"And so do I!" Ulfric countered. "But I chose to do it by fighting for the people of Skyrim and not the Empire!"

"I have always been for the people of Skyrim!"

"Your actions speak otherwise!"

"And am I to blame for these elves knocking at your gates?" Eirik asked, though when Ulfric turned about, he regretted that he had asked at all.

"Watch your tongue!" Ulfric roared. "You are in no position to criticize me after what you've done, what you've let happen! My men will die because of you! My city will be lost because of you! The cause will die because of you!"

Eirik had no answer, for he felt the weight of Ulfric's words in his heart. But his thoughts were interrupted as the door was suddenly thrust open and cries of battle were once again heard. Another loud explosion shook the palace and several of the defenders crumbled into smoldering piles of charred flesh while some threw down their weapons and begged for surrender while others ran to the back and upper portions of the Palace. Eirik saw the ones who were charging into the hall. They were Dunmer, some clad in peasant's clothes with nothing more than pitchforks and hoes, while others had Imperial armor and some were throwing balls of arcane fire into the defenders. Ulfric and Eirik were now left with a few bear-skin captains, including Galmar Stone-Fist, to defend the hall against outnumbering elves. The Dunmer rebels halted before the last defenders and one appeared from among them, clad as a peasant with long dark hair and a beard.

"Athal Sarys," Ulfric said to the newcomer. "So you show your true colors at last, siding with the Empire behind our backs."

"Ulfric Stormcloak," the elf said, speaking with a voice thick with the accent of the people of Morrowind. "Your crimes against the Dunmer people are well-known to all. But the day of reckoning has come at last. Did you think we would bend our knees in meek, quiet subservience to your cruelties while you fought your war with the Empire?" He laughed. "Even you Nords shouldn't be that stupid."

"I dare you to strike me down, Sarys!" Ulfric retorted. "Because then you'll show all of Skyrim just what you dark elves are: back-stabbing murderers who've taken advantage of the chaos of war for your own ends!"

"Enough of this," Athal said. "Surrender now and I'll consider letting you live."

"No son of Skyrim will ever surrender before a foreign invader!" Galmar roared.

"Indeed," Athal laughed. "Behold all who have thrown down their arms in surrender! The people of Skyrim are not as stupid as you'd have us believe. They saw that there was no hope in fighting a losing battle and so wisely surrendered. Your death will mean the end of the war and the tyranny that you have brought!"

Ulfric laughed. "A fine speech, elf. But I have something you don't have, something you will never have, something that your kind knows to fear: I have the Voice! _Fus...Ro Dah!_"

There was a bright flash as several elves around Athal Sarys were blasted aside but he stood fast, a magical ward hovering before him and a smile on his face.

"Seize him!" Sarys shouted.

Ulfric fought off a good deal, but even his strength and valor did not last long against them. He was subdued and bound and gagged. Meanwhile, others attacked his captains who rushed to his side. Many fell, until only Eirik and Galmar remained. Eirik turned his face towards Athal Sarys and shouted: "_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Half of the invading elves were thrown aside, but Sarys did not move, a magical ward protecting him once again.

"Bind him as well!" Sarys shouted, pointing to Eirik. "He's one of those Voice charlatans!"

Eirik had little with which to defend himself save for his own two fists, which wouldn't do much against those armed with pitchforks, swords and magic. But he fought on regardless, taking down the first elf who attacked him with a blow to the face. The second was felled with an elbow in the face and then he kicked the third, but was swiftly dragged down and bound and gagged as well. Galmar was also bound but not gagged and Eirik saw the three elves he had knocked down slowly rise up, massaging where he had struck them.

"Take them outside," Sarys said to his people.

Outside, in the courtyard of the Palace of the Kings, Eirik saw what looked like all of the Dunmer of the Grey Quarter now filling up the courtyard. There were cries beyond them and Eirik guessed that these were the townsfolk, unhappy at having their city suddenly occupied. How the order was being kept Eirik did not know, although he guessed it had something to do with the fact that many of the Stormcloak guards had been killed after the drunken stupor of last night or threw down their arms in surrender. Eirik, Galmar and Ulfric were placed on one side while Brunwulf Free-Winter approached through the throng of Dunmer and stood opposite from them.

"Traitor!" Galmar roared.

"This damned war has gone on for too long," Brunwulf retorted. "Soon the gates will be opened, the Imperial Legion will enter this city and restore the peace. Long live the Empire."

After a time, Athal Sarys appeared from out of the Palace of the Kings, surrounded by those who had stormed the hall with him in the assault. They had brought up, to Eirik's horror, Torvar, Ria, Thorald and Lydia from out of the dungeons. Torvar looked half awake, Ria had a bruise on the side of her head and Lydia was still unconscious, being held up by two Dunmer soldiers.

"My people!" Sarys began. "Less than two hundred years ago, the Decree of Monument was signed by the jarls of Skyrim, granting our people freedom to live in this land which once belonged to elf-kind! Over the years, we have been treated like cattle, despised and marginalized by the prejudice and narrow-minded Nords of Skyrim. Today, on the thirteenth day of Sun's Dawn in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, I give you the prime agitator and cause of all our oppression: Ulfric Stormcloak!"

Two Dunmer dragged Ulfric before Athal Sarys, to general booing and catcalls from those gathered in the courtyard. Only Galmar's voice was heard crying "Ulfric is our king!", after which one of the guards watching them struck him across the face. Athal Sarys held up his hands and all fell silent.

"Today," he continued. "The Dunmer of Skyrim take their destiny into their own hands. For after this hate-mongering bigot's blood has been spilled upon the stones of this city, the gates shall be opened and we shall greet the Imperial Legions and tell them who it was who ended the civil war for them, for it was the Dunmer of Skyrim!" Great cheers arose from those in the courtyard, which ended once Athal Sarys held up his hands again.

"Let his blood be the first to be spilled," Sarys said, gesturing to Ulfric. The guards brought him before Sarys, who looked down and held up his hand, silencing all. "What say you, Ulfric Stormcloak, in your own defense?" Since he was gagged, Ulfric could make no response. To this, Sarys laughed. "Do you see? He has no excuse for his actions, for there _is_ none!" He waved towards one of those standing nearby who had a sword in hand. With one wave, the sword was brought down upon Ulfric's neck, buried into flesh...but the head did not come off. The elf tore out the blood-stained blade and struck again, but once more the blade failed to sever his neck. Again he struck and again a fourth time. After a fifth strike, the head finally fell off the bloodied and broken neck and tumbled onto the stone pavement. Cheers arose from all those in the courtyard as Athal Sarys lifted up the head of Ulfric Stormcloak.

"The Bear of Windhelm is no more!" he proclaimed. Greater cheers arose from the elves in the courtyard, after which Brunwulf Free-Winter approached Athal Sarys.

"Let the word be given!" he cried out. "Open the gates and let the Empire enter into the city of Kings!"

"Not so fast, Brunwulf Free-Winter," Sarys said, turning to the old Nord.

"What do you mean?" Brunwulf asked. "Ulfric is dead, the rebellion has ended. Let the Empire enter into..."

"What gives you any right to stand here as an equal?" Sarys asked.

"I have helped your people through the rough times," Brunwulf said. "Ask any of them! Who was it who has always begged with both Ulfric and his father to end the suffering of the dark elves in Windhelm? When the blockade occurred, who was it who smuggled food to the starving people of the Grey Quarter?"

"Oh, I see," Sarys replied. "And, like good little slaves, we should just accept your charity and return to our homes while you take the throne of Windhelm and the credit for Ulfric's death all to yourself, I take it."

"No, never!" Brunwulf retorted. "All I want is for justice to be done in Skyrim."

"Justice indeed," Sarys stated. "And was it not you who said that you begged Ulfric to end our suffering?"

"Aye, that I have done," Brunwulf said.

"And, as you can clearly see, your words fell on deaf ears," Sarys continued. "You failed to do what you hold as a badge of honor which you think will save your life. But it will not! Dunmer saved themselves from the tyranny of Ulfric Stormcloak, not Nords. It is high time you people learned the truth: you are like ignorant cattle, grazing stupidly on your master's field while higher beings plot your slaughter. Not only for those who call themselves 'Stormcloaks', but for _all_ Nords in the Eastmarch!"

There were cheers scattered with cries of dismay from those beyond the courtyard. Eirik saw horror pass before Brunwulf's face as he realized that he had stuck out his neck for the dark elf people, only to have them ask for his head in return.

"Ten years ago," Sarys continued, speaking to the people in the courtyard. "I wrote a book called '_Dunmer of Skyrim_', where I proclaimed our supremacy as a race apart from the ignorant Nords. Today that vision shall come to pass! When those gates are opened, we will tell General Tullius and the Imperial Legion that we slew Ulfric Stormcloak, ending the rebellion and civil war for them. In their gratitude, they will give this city to us. We will promise to uphold the Treaty of the Armistice as we have done before and obey the laws of the Empire where they apply to us. And this city of Windhelm shall be renamed 'Vindrhyll', a free city for the Dunmer people to inhabit, free of the scourge of Nordic oppression and Argonian filth, for a thousand years!" Cheers arose from the crowd in perfect response.

"No!" Brunwulf replied. "I have never ceased to help your people! I have fought, suffered and bled that you might be free from the yoke of Ulfric's oppression! You can't do this to me!"

"Oh, but we can," said Athal Sarys to Brunwulf. "And we will. As you yourself just said now, you have bled for us to be free. Well, the Dunmer people require _more_ of your blood!" He signaled to the soldiers near at hand and slashed his fore-finger across his neck.

"My loyalties have been always to the Emperor," Brunwulf said as he was dragged beside Ulfric's body and forced to kneel. "My heart has always been to the suffering dark elf people. Long live the Emp..."

But before he could speak, his neck was severed by the headsman, though his head was not stricken off at the first blow. Two blows more and then Brunwulf Free-Winter lay headless beside Ulfric Stormcloak. There were not as many cheers among the crowds when they saw Brunwulf dead as opposed to when Ulfric was slain.

"Open the gates of Vindrhyll!" Sarys shouted. "Let the Empire come forth to greet the ones who liberated the city and crushed the rebellion for them!"

Immediately there was heard more shouting and commotion, but Eirik did not stay long to guess what it could be, for the Dunmer who held him and Galmar in chains dragged him back to the dungeons of the Palace of the Kings. Only this time he would not be sent back to his bed, but _in_to the cells, which were then locked. Once more, to his depression and dismay, Eirik Dragonborn was back behind bars.

* * *

**(AN: I did not make up Athal Sarys for the purpose of having a Dunmer scape-goat which I could pin all the evil on. He is mentioned in the game as the author of _Dunmer of Skyrim_, I just expanded his role a bit. This is, however, not the end of tribulations which Eirik shall face, for he has still not faced enough.)  
**


End file.
